


The Seven Year Sleep

by Secret_Writer_X_9



Series: Silent Masters Pulp Serials [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past, The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask, The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Blood and Violence, Detective Noir, Drug Dealing, F/M, Fairies, Femme Fatale, Gambling, Gangsters, Gun Violence, Mild Language, Monsters, Non-Explicit Sex, Smoking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:14:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 41,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23485135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Secret_Writer_X_9/pseuds/Secret_Writer_X_9
Summary: After a case went sour seven years ago, Silent was out of the game. He tried turning to the bottle to forget his failures. He tried putting that Zelda dame out of his mind. If she hadn't hired him to salvage the Fitzgeralt family name, the city might not be under the boot of the big boss, Mr. Ganon. Silent was willing to fade away from this city gone to hell... until his uncle is murdered on the courthouse steps before testifying against Ganon. Now, this washed up private eye is pulled back into the game to avenge his uncle's death, and he'll be getting some help from some unlikely allies: a redhead bombshell with the voice of a goddess, a street urchin with a knack for trickery, a police lieutenant built like a mountain, a clever librarian with an hourglass figure, and a mysterious vigilante known only as the Sheik.Chapter 10 is now available.
Relationships: Link & Zelda (Legend of Zelda), Link/Malon (Legend of Zelda)
Series: Silent Masters Pulp Serials [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715011
Comments: 35
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

I knew that Zelda dame would bring me nothing but trouble.

I knew it while holding that letter from my uncle. It had come under my office door yesterday evening, slipped across the floor in a plain manila envelope. No markings, no one standing outside the door when I went to check, no clue whatsoever. Obviously, the contents were meant to be hush-hush, which was something you get used to in the private eye business. 

I let the envelope sit for a day and a night. No sense rushing a case, especially when everyone in this city has the jitters all day long as they imagine what the bosses will do to them next. Besides, I had a good bottle of Chateau Romani in hand and a thirst to quench. It was a deep thirst, seven years in the making...

When it got to be morning and the crows started their damnable crowing, I thought to hell with it. It’s not like I had anything better to do than nurse a hangover. I grabbed the envelope and ripped it open with one swift and decisive motion.

I recognized my uncle’s perfect handwriting in an instant. He was a good lawyer, always fighting for the little guy. He never left a single word to chance or misinterpretation.

He was going downtown tomorrow morning, no, this morning. He was going to testify against the big boss, Mr. Ganon. You see, he had it all figured out, and now he was going to lift the stain on the Fitzgeralt family name and put the right people back in charge.

Yeah, it was trouble alright, and the whole thing started with a dame.

* * *

I should have known the bad times were coming. When the heiress of a vast family fortune ventures into your rough n’ tumble neighborhood to ask for a favor, it ain’t because she wants your opinion on the latest fashion. 

It must be over seven years ago now, back when this city was livable. I remember hearing that knock on my door. I remember looking up from another bottle and fixing my blurry eyes on the door’s frosted glass.

If you could read backwards after a good long pull on Romani, then bully for you. Me, I could barely make out shapes and colors, but I knew what those black letters on the glass told the world. LIN K. MASTERS, “THE SILENT KNIGHT” PRIVATE EYE. Yeah, laugh it up, chuckles. I didn’t choose the name. This city chose it for me. They slapped it on real good, and it stuck so good that it brought in the business and the rupees.

Only a fool changes a good thing. Now there’s a piece of advice I could have taken to heart before this new job walked through the door.

Those black letters were all that stood out in the cacophony of color that she called an outfit. Purples, yellows, a pink that would make a bird of paradise blush... you could tell she was high society, even through frosted glass. High society types never bothered me much, until then. Typically, they would send their hired hands or nursemaids to detail a new job, but this time was different. This time, the bad news was coming straight from the princess’s mouth.

And brother, did she ever look the part of a princess. As the door creaked open, one glistening stiletto heel appeared to herald the arrival of beauty. She strode into the office with that air of royalty, as if she owned the place or knew she could buy it up in a heartbeat. White daggers of light cut through the window blinds, slashing across the silk of her siren evening gown. A purple sash and pink waterfall drapes wrapped around her hips. Her shoulders were covered in the finest wolfos furs this city could conjure up, probably taken off some crazy monster during a raid. That was certainly one way to escape the gutter and mingle with high society. The dark furs outlined her fair weather face, smooth skin to match the pearls of her headpiece and blue eyes the color of sapphires. Yes sir, there was no mistaking her for what she was. A princess, through and through.

“Mr. Masters?” Her voice had a low thrum to it, like the deeper chords of a harp. “My name is Zelda Fitzgeralt. I need your help.”

She didn’t need to tell me her name, of course. Any bloke who read the papers now and again would have laid eyes on a photograph of her pretty face, gracing the headlines while her wealthy family bestowed yet another charitable boon upon the city. The Fitzgeralt family owned this city back then, there was no doubt about that.

Ms. Fitzgeralt walked up to my desk and took a seat in the chair opposite mine. She unzipped a small purse and pulled out a newspaper article, cut from yesterday’s post.

“I know you’re a man of few words, Mr. Masters, and you like to get down to business. I won’t take up much of your time. Are you familiar with the mob boss, Mr. Ganon?”

She handed me the clipping. A photograph of the mob boss was headlined by journalist trash: CRIME LORD OR BENEFACTOR? GANON GIVES BACK TO CITY. The boss himself was decked out in his finest pinstripe suit, exiting a black limousine and waving at his adoring fans.

Sure, I had heard all about Ganon’s new campaign for urban prosperity. It isn’t easy to ignore the fact that one of the city’s wealthiest criminals has supposedly turned a new leaf and given half his fortune back to the people. Ever since the mob boss flashed his greenbacks at the mayor, they’d become the best of pals. I told Zelda that I knew all about Ganon changing his evil ways, but he would always be a no-good leader of the Blin gangs, in my mind.

“Yes, well, good luck convincing anyone else in this city,” she said, pulling out a slim cigarette holder and lighting a gasper. “Ganon has them eating luxury pie out of his big hands. They seem pretty willing to forget the man’s past so long as he pays for their future.” 

She took a long drag on her cigarette and tilted her head to the side, blowing a steady stream of smoke into the air. “Me? I believe in second chances, sure, but now he’s starting to slander my family name. He likes telling his adoring public that we’re sitting on piles of gold while the people starve. He’s even starting to dig up old stories about the Fitzgeralts. Claims our ancestors tortured and killed our enemies to gain our fortune.”

I raised an eyebrow at her.

She pursed her lips angrily. “None of which is true, of course! Lies and slander, all of it. But the problem is, Mr. Masters, it’s working. First the people wanted my father to release his tax papers, which he made public, in good faith. Never mind that everything was in order and the charity money was generous. They only saw the dollar signs, and they held that number over his head like a curse. Then the family horror stories got out, and now the mayor’s called for an investigation. My father already has a weak heart. If anything ruins his good name...”

Her eyes started to glisten. I shifted uncomfortably in my chair, thinking the waterworks were about to start, but Ms. Fitzgeralt clenched her jaw and focused her eyes on mine. “It’s only a matter of time, Mr. Masters. Ganon is throwing us to the wolves. He’s taking over the city.”

She pulled a checkbook from her purse. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where this was going. “I want you to stop the lies. I want you to find the source and expose it. Stop Ganon, and I will pay you three times the amount you see here.”

She finished writing a figure and tore out the check, slipping it across the desk with gloved fingertips. I stared at the figure, appreciating the elegant stature of the first number and especially the curves of every zero that followed. I held it in my hands, just to make sure it was real.

Of course I took the case. We shook hands and sealed the deal, this uptown heiress and downtown private eye, an unlikely pair if ever there was one.

Looking back, I should have recognized that check for what it was. A worthless scrap of paper that would seal me in a prison of regret for seven long years. That’s the true price of trying to bring down the big boss and falling flat on your overconfident face.

* * *

Bad dealings, bad memories. All of it would be best forgotten with the help of some liquid comfort, but the mistakes of yesterday had an ugly way of casting new shadows.

Now I was holding another scrap of paper, telling me in no uncertain terms that my uncle was going to bring down the big boss all by himself. It was a nice idea, but I knew he was walking straight into the jaws of the beast.

I grabbed my trench coat and gun holster, making sure the Hero Model .32 revolver was loaded. I glanced at the wall clock. 9:36. The trial was scheduled for 10 a.m. New figures were bouncing around my head, beating each other senseless with logic and human stamina. Even if I made a beeline for the courthouse, I would only have a few minutes to spare, and I knew Mr. Ganon would never spare my uncle.

I raced out of the office, probably bowled over a few clerks on the way, knocked over an expensive piece of pottery in the lobby. The guard at the front desk was shouting something at me, probably demanding that I pay up for shattered goods, but his voice was drowned out as I sprinted towards Market Street and prayed for one miserable shred of luck. 

Luck would not be a lady today. Luck was a cold hard bitch bent on holding me up. The skies were already thick with smog, the same damned pollution that hung over the city for the past seven years, and now a storm was kicking up. The rain fell steady, causing me to slip at every street corner or land in every puddle from Park to Market. 

When I finally reached the courthouse, I found myself blocked by an army of reporters, thrusting their microphones out from under dark umbrellas. I pushed into the crowd. One of the Zora reporters glared angrily at me as I shoved past him, cursing me and flaring his neck gills. If he could breathe fire, I would be toast.

I pushed past the crowd far enough to see a man striding up the courthouse steps, the object of the reporters’ frenzy. My uncle, dressed in his best pinstripe suit and business fedora, moved past these agents of the press with the tight-lipped confidence of a poker player who knows he holds the best possible hand. He was nearly through the doors when he turned and caught a glimpse of me standing in the crowds. He smiled and waved in my direction, as if a single gesture would tell me that he had everything in hand.

The sound of gunfire split the air. Red puffs of blood exploded from my uncle’s suit jacket. He twisted around, using his outstretched hand to reach for a nearby column. He missed and tumbled down the courthouse steps.

The press scattered, their entire bewildered army retreating in panic. The screams and shouting voices roared with the storm. As they ran away from the courthouse, I ran towards my uncle, grabbing the shoulders of his jacket and stopping him from cracking his head open on the marble steps.

His shirt was drenched in water and blood, great pools of crimson welling up from three bullet holes in his chest. He looked up at me, struggling to open his eyes, the folds of skin around his mouth trembling from the pain.

“Linny. Linny, my boy...” He coughed. A trickle of blood sprouted from the corner of his mouth. “I... need you... to take this...”

His hands shook as he reached into the suit pocket. He pulled out a folded piece of paper, another damned scrap of paper, and handed it to me. Blood was already staining one of the corners and droplets of rain threatened to pull it apart. I bent over my uncle and took the paper, shielding them both with my trench coat. 

“Follow the leads,” he said, his voice cracking with every word. “There are three sides to his power. Save the city... Zelda is your...”

The words stopped with his breath. I realized that I was staring at empty eyes now, and my uncle had closed up shop for good.

I let go of his shoulders and laid him to rest on the courthouse steps. I tucked the folded paper into my trench coat. My teeth were starting to hurt from clenching my jaw shut.

One of the reporters cried out. “Look! Up there! It’s the Sheik!”

My eyes darted upward out of instinct, out of the need to grab hold of every clue and solve every puzzle. I saw the dark outline of a man, standing at the edge of the defense building across the street. He wore a dark blue ulster coat. The lower half of his face was masked in a white scarf, and a fedora cast an impenetrable shadow over his eyes. I chose to focus on the gun that he held in his left hand. 

There was no puzzle to solve now. My uncle was dead, and his killer was looking down on us, gloating.

I took off down the steps of the courthouse, tore through the remaining bystanders. There would be too many guards inside, so I decided to climb the fire escape. The metal bars clattered and clanged all the way up, playing a big band song in my head, fueling my rage.

I reached the top and leapt over the railing, drawing my revolver from its holster to deal out swift justice, but the rooftop was empty. The Sheik was nowhere to be found.

I walked to the edge of the building and rested my hands on the parapet. Three stories below, my uncle’s body lay broken on the steps, and all I had to go on were a few broken words and a scrap of paper.

Suddenly remembering the paper, I took it out of my coat pocket. I unfolded it carefully, first noting the shapes. Three triangles, all of which connected to form one larger triangle. They each had a letter drawn in the center: C. W. P.

Follow the leads. Three sides to his power. That Zelda dame, after all these years.

So these were the clues, the only evidence of my uncle’s big break, the keys to the kingdom, as it were, which was just a fancy way to describe a big, fat pile of nothing. I had nothing to go on.

But I did have someone. The Sheik.

They said he was a vigilante, a shadowy killer that prowled the streets. No one else could tell you whose side he was on, but I knew. He shot my uncle before he could testify against the big boss. He was Ganon’s puppet, through and through.

He was my only lead, and I would break every single one of his fingers until he told me exactly why Ganon ordered the hit on my uncle. They also said that no one knew the Sheik’s true identity, but I knew someone else who could tell you the full name and favorite dessert of every piece of filth that walked these city streets. He was a piece of filth himself, willing to trick his brother out of his night club, willing to turn it into the seediest horse gambling den you ever laid eyes on and force his niece to entertain those monsters he called patrons.

I folded the paper and put it back in my pocket. It was time to pay a visit to The Ranch.


	2. Chapter 2

“Honest, mister! The password is mug punter.”

I thought about telling that little urchin to wash her dirty mouth out with bar soap, but then I remembered that a mug punter was a chuckle head who made too many bad bets at the tracks. Sounded about right. Besides, I had just seen the kid hanging out above the club, dangling her legs over the roof while looking down on unsuspecting bouncers and guests as they relayed the password.

I pulled out a billfold of rupee banknotes and passed off a red twenty to the kid. Yup, this mug punter was probably casting his ill-fated bet right now.

The street urchin bounced around like a giddy chicken and suddenly lost the filthy green cap on her head. The kid grabbed the cap off the ground and turned to run, but I grabbed her shoulder and asked for a name.

The kid turned around sheepishly, holding the green cap tight around her head. She thumped her chest with a little fist. “It’s Mido, mister, the most dangerous bloke on the block!”

I asked for her real name.

The kid pouted and removed her cap, letting a tangled mess of hair tumble out. “Saria, but don’t you go telling the other scamps. I got a reputation to uphold, you hear?”

Yeah, I heard her. The streets were tough enough for the boys, but at least they could earn a meager living. Saria would probably be snatched up by a twisted copper if they knew she was a girl, a girl who couldn’t be turned into a useful errand boy for the bosses. They’d probably stick her in one of the worst foster homes in the gutter without so much as a good luck word.

I told Saria that her secret was safe from everybody and asked her to stick around town. I may have a job for her worth a purple fifty next time.

The urchin nodded excitedly and tucked her hair back under her cap, scampering off down the back alleyways.

I walked out of the alleys and toward the club. No more rest for the weary, after all. The club’s neon sign gave off sharp color, cutting through the smog with crimson letters: THE RANCH. I walked up to the bouncer, a big, hairy man with a lion’s mane and the jaw to match. The horns twisting out of his forehead were probably the most disturbing part of his physique. Everyone knew you didn’t mess with a Lynel. 

He placed a hand on my shoulder, firm enough to let me know that I had best behave myself if I wanted to keep my arm in its socket.

“Weapons?”

I swore under my breath, knowing the Lynel could see my gun holster plain as day. I begrudgingly handed the bouncer my revolver. At least I still had a knife hidden in my trench coat, but that was little comfort where this place was concerned.

“Password?”

I obliged. He grunted with something akin to disappointment and waved me through.

As soon as the velvet curtains parted, I was greeted by the haze and smell of Dodongo smoke. It was some potent stuff they were smoking tonight. 

The joint was crowded to the hilt. Gamblers and drinkers all gathered around the tables, shouting, swearing, laughing. An empty stage rested at the far edge of the room, ensconced by velvet red curtains. The bar was abuzz with cocktail shakers and glittering with bottles of liquid comfort. I felt the dryness tingling in the back of my throat as I watched a barman pour out some Chateau Romani into a man’s glass. I shook my head quick and hard. I had business to take care of. The thirst could wait.

I took a look around the club. I noted several members of the Blin gangs. A couple of the goblin men caught my eye and then pretended they hadn’t seen me. 

I recognized a few of the reporters from earlier, throwing back their martinis and smoking cigars after another lousy news day. Just another poor old sod gunned down at the courthouse. Nobody would miss him, especially not the bosses.

And speak of the demon king, even the bosses were rubbing shoulders with the lower classes, all for the sake of some fast cash winnings. Granted, they were small time bosses, but when I happened to lock eyes with one of them, he didn’t look away. Just held my gaze like a trueborn killer.

I ignored him and pushed on into the club. 

As I walked past the tables, I noticed that most of the men had their eyes fixed on the surface of the table, waving ticket stubs and rupee notes in their bunched up fists. I walked up to a table between a Blin and a Zora. 

The outer rim of the table was fairly normal, just a plain wood finish covered with cigar ash and glasses of bourbon. The center of the table was another story entirely. There was a pool of water, glistening with light and motion. The men kept dropping rupees and ticket stubs into the water, which immediately sank out of sight. I watched with interest as shapes and colors sped across the surface of water, and soon enough I realized that I was watching a horse race taking place in far off High Roller Fields.

Fairy fountains. The gamblers had procured sacred fairy fountains to win a quick buck. 

The men around me were shouting horse names as they threw their rupee notes into the water. “C’mon, Parapa!” “He ain’t got nothing on Stalhorse!” “Fifty rupees on Storm!”

As I watched the horses race and the rupees disappear, though, it was clear that only one horse ruled the tracks, and she was a thing of beauty. Epona, the prized mare. It was the horse that won Mr. Ingo enough money to buy Ganon’s favor and take over this club from his brother. Hell, there was even a small golden statue of Epona sitting on a pedestal behind the bar. None of the other horses could hold a candle to her.

And there was proof positive. The mare crossed the finish line. The fountains suddenly stirred and fairy women emerged from the waters, scantily clad in nothing but flowers and twisting vines, blowing a kiss and showering some of the gamblers with rupee notes. Some men shouted with joy, some of them swore, and some just wept into their glasses.

A well-dressed stick figure with a pot belly took to the stage, twirling his mustache gleefully as he spoke into the microphone. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, there will always be another race and another winner. Though, it does appear that we have a bit of a winning streak on our hands.”

“Blow it out your ass, Ingo!” shouted one of the bosses.

The stick man named Ingo laughed pleasantly and smoothed back his hair, glistening with pomade. “Now, now, let it never be said that Mr. Ingo is stingy with his winnings. As your host and the purveyor of this fine establishment, I ask that you throw aside your cares and take deep pleasure in the dulcet tones of the one, the only... my beautiful niece, Malon!”

Ingo gestured to the stage. A brush shivered on the high hat. A man snapped his fingers. A warm, golden light blossomed on a woman, red haired and curvacious. 

She swayed with the music and began to sing in a low, seductive voice.

_You had plenty money, some was lent to you_

_You let other women make a fool of you_

_Why don't you do right, like some other men do?_

_Get out of here and get me some rupees too_

_You're sittin' there and wonderin' what it's all about_

_You ain't got no money, they will put you out_

_Why don't you do right, like some other men do?_

The lights came up, illuminating the bandstand. I slowly turned and put my back against the fountain table, unable to take my eyes off the woman and her stunning sequin dress.

As she swayed and ran gloved hands across her hips, she looked out into the crowd, and wouldn’t you know it, she laid her eyes on me. A saxophone moaned with pleasure. 

_If you had prepared seven years ago_

_You wouldn't be a-wanderin' from door to door_

_Why don't you do right, like some other men do?_

_Get out of here and get me some rupees too_

There was a fever running through the crowd now. A waitress passed by, balancing her platter of scotches and whiskeys while navigating this raging sea of gamblers and horny toads. One of the toads reached out to touch the waitress, who deftly smacked his hand away without losing a drop of drink.

I watched as Ingo came charging through the crowd, knocking over the waitress. The waitress and her platter crashed to the floor, liquor raining down on her uniform. “You have any idea who that was you just smacked, Cremia?” he shouted, spittle flying and mustache waggling. “I’ll teach you to mind the bosses!”

That was Ingo’s way of running this joint... yelling at the ladies, jeering at the men, twirling that crooked mustache on a face that only a mother would tolerate.

I jerked to attention on impulse, but something held me back from giving Ingo a taste of his own medicine. A little shred of wisdom, maybe, rare as it was. There were too many crooks and bosses in the room. I couldn’t give the girl her dignity back or help anyone as a corpse.

Malon held my gaze, refusing to let her uncle’s outburst ruin her number or our shared moment. Her voice rose an octave.

_Why don't you do right... like some other men... do?_

She held the last note, her voice trembling with the music. The sax whined. The drums pounded a crashing beat in rhythm with every man’s heartbeat. 

The music stopped, and the crowd went nuts. The gamblers were burning hot, and the only way to sate that fever now was to take the siren’s advice. They turned back to their fountains, eager to get some rupees back in their wallets.

Me, I just watched Malon as she stepped away from the mic. Her eyes lowered with the stage lights and velvet curtains, pulling her back into a prison of her uncle’s making.

* * *

I lingered at the bar long after the final bets were placed, a candle bouncing its light off my glass. The fairy fountains were going dim, and the crooks were either stumbling in the streets or passed out under the very fountains that devoured their dough.

The waitress, Cremia, was running the bar now. She had found time to change her blouse as the evening wore on, but the shame and utter despair were still stricken all over her face.

“Another glass, sir?” she asked in a small voice.

I shook my head and held the glass up, showing an inch of Chateau Romani still left. I had been nursing this one, determined to keep my head level while I put my questions to Ingo.

She moved down the bar and started wiping the mess left by the gamblers, extinguishing some of the candles as she worked. I started to work up the nerve to track down the proprietor, when it just so happened that Ingo blessed us with his ugly mug anyway. He pulled Cremia away from the bar, hissing through his teeth as he spoke.

“You lousy bimbo, I oughta take that little stunt you pulled out of your hide! If you so much as touch another guest in my bar, I’ll do more than dock your pay, that’s for certain.” Ingo’s eyes lit up with something like fear. The waitress looked down at the floor, pursing her lips. “The last thing I need is the Iron Knuckle of Bridgetown laying waste to this place, this club that I worked so hard to earn. Listen to me when I’m talking to you, girl!”

Ingo raised a hand to slap Cremia, but he stopped when a smooth, pale hand rested on his shoulder. He turned sharply, shocked that someone would dare touch him in his bar. Malon, still gorgeous in her violet dress, looked him in the eyes.

“Leave her be, uncle. Can’t you see she’s embarrassed? She won’t let it happen again.”

Ingo spoke through gritted teeth. “Keep out of this, Malon. Remember who puts a roof over your head and keeps food in your mouth, and I only do that ‘cause you're my brother’s whelp.”

I drained the last drop and slammed the glass on the bar, hard and loud. 

The three of them looked my way, and Ingo started to chuckle.

“Well, well, look what the wallmaster dragged in! Didn’t think I would be seeing your sorry ass out and about.”

Ingo strutted down the bar and stood in front of me like a puffed up rooster, arms crossed and confident, his prized golden horse glittering behind him. “The silent knight. I thought you’d still be sleeping off all that trouble you caused for the rich stiffs. What was it again?”

I stayed true to my name, silent in the face of stupidity.

“Ah yes, the Fitzgeralt Incident. You really took the whole clan down with you, didn’t ya? But perhaps I should be thanking you. If it wasn’t for crazy flatfoots like you, I’d still be playing second fiddle to my brother. So, what can we get you, Silent? Besides a new life, that is.”

I unfolded my uncle’s drawing and held it up for Ingo to see. The instant he saw those triangles, his face turned white as a sheet. He coughed once, trying to regain his composure, but I saw the knowledge written all over his face.

“Got no idea what I’m looking at, Silent. Perhaps you could enlighten me?”

I folded up the drawing slowly and carefully, placing it back in my coat pocket, and then I reached across the bar and grabbed Ingo by the collar. As I pulled him halfway across the bar, I demanded answers. I demanded to know what the triangles meant, and while he was at it, he could tell me where to find this Sheik character.

The club owner twitched with fear, but he still had the gall to look me in the eyes and smile. “Wrong move, detective. Boys!”

The velvet stage curtains were thrown back, and one goon after another marched into the club proper. Some of them cracked their knuckles. One of the goons, a moblin gangster by the looks of him, even added some brass to his knuckles. And who better to lead them than the Lynel bouncer, whose steel-toe boots thumped against the hardwood floor. Now there was an ominous sound.

A small army of six goons stopped in front of the bar. The moblin gangster even walked up to me, standing a few feet away and rubbing his brass knuckles in eager anticipation. Ingo’s smile widened.

Damn.

I dropped Ingo and picked up my empty glass. I asked for one final drop for a dead man. He chuckled, throwing ice cubes into my glass and pouring out some scotch.

“On the rocks, Silent. Just like your life.”

I nodded and raised the glass to my lips. I threw back the glass but held the scotch in my mouth. Without warning, I grabbed the candle nearby and turned on the gangster, spitting the liquor over the candle and engulfing him in flames. The moblin screamed, throwing himself on the ground to put out the flames, and I chucked the empty glass right upside the next goon’s forehead, knocking him out cold.

And just like that, the club switched from last calls to anything goes. Two of the goons rushed me at once. I leapt away from the bar and whipped off my trench coat, catching one of them in the fabric and twisting the coat around his head. I flung him into the bar and knocked him out cold, drawing my knife from the hidden pocket and stabbing the next goon in the shoulder. He screamed in agony until I brought my knee up into his groin, at which point all he could manage was a defeated grunt and a tumble to the floor.

Cremia screamed and ran backstage. Ingo was shouting at his goons from behind the bar. He hurled a couple of bottles into the fray, one of which I was able to dodge and the other which clobbered his own goon.

Maybe I was starting to let all of this good fortune go to my head, because I never would have seen the bouncer coming until it was too late. The Lynel blew hot air from his nostrils and charged the bar, and I was standing right in his way like a damn chuckle head.

I felt another body throw itself against me, pushing me to the side as the Lynel crashed through the bar and reduced it to a mess of splinters. Malon covered my body with her own, and I could just make out her gorgeous face through the falling tangles of red hair.

“Watch yourself, Silent,” she said. “I’m not losing you again.”

I nodded once and gently rolled her away from me, urging her to stay out of danger. She chuckled. “Look who’s talking.”

As I stood and faced the bar, the bouncer was getting back on his own feet and throwing a broken piece of the counter away like it was an unwanted blanket. There were glass shards and utensils sticking out of his skin. He was bleeding from a dozen wounds, but none of that meant squat to the Lynel. 

The bouncer grabbed an unbroken bottle, smashed it on the edge of the bar, and took a few steps in my direction. He began to charge, but there was no way he would pull a fast one on me again. I stepped aside as he stabbed at me with the bottle. I leapt onto his back, locking him in a choke hold that I knew my life depended on.

The Lynel roared and cussed at the top of his lungs until he lost his breath. He swung his back against the remains of the bar and two of the fountain tables, trying to dislodge me, and boy, I felt it. The water splashed and the fairies cried out in surprise, but I held on good and tight until the big guy dropped. His knees crashed to the floor, and soon the rest of him followed. He started to snore, loud as a jack hammer.

I pulled myself off the bouncer and stumbled back into the bar, every muscle screaming in agony. That had to be it, all of the hired thugs, but I was forgetting about the final thug, the one who hired all the rest of them.

Ingo snuck up on me and grabbed my collar, forcing me against the bar. He held a knife to my throat, which I held off with the last lick of strength in my body. The club owner’s eyes were lit with fire and brimstone.

Malon shouted at me. “Silent! Catch!”

I somehow managed to turn my head to see a golden horse statue flying towards it. I held off Ingo with one hand and grabbed the surprise Pegasus out of the air with the other, swinging the horse statue around and knocking Ingo out cold.

The club owner slumped to the ground. I walked over to Malon and the empty pedestal, putting the horse statue back in its place. Malon kissed her fingers and touched the head of the statue. “Good ol’ Epona,” she said, and I couldn’t help but agree with her.

* * *

It took several minutes of dunking Ingo’s head in a fairy fountain to wake him up.

I pulled him out of the water and he sputtered something fierce, spitting out the life-giving waters. His mustache hung limp, and his greasy hair was plastered against his head. “That’s enough! Enough, I say!”

We sat him down at one of the tables, his hands bound behind his back. His head started to loll to the side, so I snapped a finger under his nose and demanded that he start talking.

“I swear, Silent, I don’t know a thing. I swear it on my niece’s life!”

Malon crossed her arms and stuck out her hip. “Like we would ever believe that, uncle. You’re always listening in on everyone with these fountains, gathering secrets. Now you answer Silent’s questions and you answer them proper. What do those triangles mean?”

Ingo scowled at his niece, but she didn’t have to ask twice. “The triangles... it’s just a symbol. I’ve seen him draw it in letters to the bosses, like some sort of code. He’s always going on about it when he calls them up. He warns them, says they’d better not betray him, because he’ll know. He keeps telling them to respect the many sides of his power.”

Just like my uncle said. Three sides to his power. I asked Ingo what the sides were supposed to represent.

“You think I would be spying on conversations through a damn fairy fountain if I was in that deep with the bosses?”

I grabbed his shoulder and squeezed.

“AHH!! Alright, alright, I don’t know anything about two of the sides, but he always signs letters to the chief of police with that symbol. I’d bet anything that the cops represent a side. Maybe you could ask them.”

“The police are a bunch of crooks,” said Malon. “Everyone knows they can’t be trusted.”

“There’s still one good cop in the bunch,” said Ingo. “They’re always talking behind his back, trying to come up with ways to dismiss him or get him killed in a raid. Darunia. He’s a lieutenant. Goron. Hard to ignore his kind. They take up half a room.”

No answers. Just another lead, taking me further down the rabbit hole. I wasn’t about to leave empty-handed. I asked Ingo about the Sheik.

“I... I don’t know!” Ingo screamed. He looked like he was on the verge of tears, and I almost felt bad for the scumbag. “No one knows who he is! He’s not on Ganon’s payroll, I can tell you that. He ain’t never done me a bad turn, but the big bosses hate his guts. He’s always prowling the streets at night, beating up thugs. The gangs call him a shadow. He’s the only thing that scares them right now, besides Ganon.”

There was no use pressing him now. He was telling the honest truth, but all it meant for me was another dead end.

I walked away from Ingo, and asked Malon what she planned on doing with him.

“Oh, I have something in mind.” She walked to the stage and called out. “Cremia! It’s safe to come out!”

Soon enough, the waitress peered out from behind the curtains, taking in the scene with cautious eyes. When she saw Ingo trussed up good, she immediately stepped out and approached Malon, who held out a key to the poor girl.

“I want you to take the Red Stallion out back. There’s plenty of gas in the tank. We’re going to load Mr. Ingo into the backseat, or do you think the trunk would be better?”

Cremia’s eyes widened. “You want me to get rid of Mr. Ingo? I’m no killer, ma’am.”

Malon laughed. Goddess, how I missed that laugh. “Nothing as sordid as that, I assure you. I just want you to drive him to the police station and ask for Darunia. Oh, and you’ll want to give him this.” She walked into the back office and returned with a large book. “This is the ledger that Mr. Ingo used to keep track of his winnings. I’m sure plenty of the cops will be interested to see how my uncle cooked the numbers, especially those officers who are some of our regulars.”

Ingo started to spit like an angry cat, but I put an end to that by stuffing a cloth napkin into his mouth.

Malon smiled back at me. She hugged the waitress. “I promise, things are going to be a sight better around here. I’m taking over control of The Ranch, once and for all.”

Cremia’s eyes sparkled with relief and sweet revenge. She nodded and took the ledger from Malon.

We dragged out the unconscious goons, which was no small feat for the bouncer, and left them in the alleyway. They’d get the message when they got their senses back. Then we loaded up Mr. Ingo into the backseat of the Red Stallion, figuring it was best to deliver him alive rather than poisoned by carbon monoxide. We secured his restraints until he was stiff as a stone, or maybe he was finally done fighting.

Cremia drove off into the night, eager to deliver her former boss into the hands of justice.

Malon turned to face me. We stared into each other’s eyes for the space of a moment, and then she grabbed my shirt and pulled me in for a real humdinger of a kiss.

Before I knew it, she was leading me back into the club and up the stairs to her bedroom. We threw open the door to her room with reckless abandon, our mouths pressed together and her body pressed against mine. She took the fedora off my head and tossed it aside.

I felt her hands grab hold of my suspenders, fumbling quickly with them as she pulled them down over my shoulders. She tore off her gloves and began unbuttoning my shirt. She pressed her hand against my bare chest, sliding her fingers across the muscles and scars.

I turned her around, placing my hands on her waist as she writhed with pleasure. She turned her head to kiss my neck. I found the zipper on the side of her dress and drew it downward, following the curves of her body.

Her sequin dress fell to the floor and glittered like a country sky. She walked away from my hands, and her swaying hips just made me want to embrace her again, make love to her in ways that would make us both sing. Her black lingerie outlined the voluptuous contours of her body. She climbed onto the bed and slid across the covers, turning around to face me. 

Slowly, her hands ran down the length of her legs, removing her sheer stockings inch by inch. Her hands gently unbuckled her black brassiere and she flippantly threw it aside. She ran her hands through her red hair and removed a pin, causing those gorgeous locks to rain down over her chest.

Malon hummed with pleasure. “Come here, my fair boy.”

I approached the bed and she reached out for me, grasping my belt and unfastening the buckle with urgency. 

Soon, we were both exposed to one another, completely and utterly honest in our affections. I lowered myself over her and ran my lips across her neck, biting her skin softly. She moaned with delight.

The wind was rushing, through our minds, through the streets of the city outside. A distant sound of thunder rumbled, like the far off galloping of horses across an open field.

* * *

The sun was rising, warming the bedroom with an amber glow. I felt her delicate fingers stroking my chest, running softly across the bullet scars peppering my shoulder.

“Is this why you disappeared, my love?” she asked. “Did they hurt you so bad?”

I turned my gaze away from her gorgeous figure, covered in nothing but a white sheet. She pulled me back, gently placing her hand on the side of my face and turning my gaze toward hers. “I saw the headlines, but I didn’t believe them. I know you would never slander the Fitzgeralts and let Ganon take over so easily.”

I pulled off the sheet and sat on the edge of the bed. Malon came up behind me and put her arms around my shoulders. “You don’t have to say anything until you’re ready. I just wish you hadn’t stayed away. You left so quickly after helping my dad out of that jam seven years ago. I never had a chance to tell you...”

I held her hand tight, as if to reassure her that I was back for good. But what right did I have to give her that kind of reassurance, especially when it might not be true. I may very well be at the bottom of Lake Hylia this time next week, but still, I held her hand.

We dressed in silence and made our way downstairs. It was too early for a drink and the bar was in ruins, but there was still someone knocking on the door. Malon answered, and there was the bouncer, standing tall and silent as if he still had a job to do. 

I pushed myself in between them, glaring at the Lynel, but Malon just put a hand on my shoulder and asked me to step aside. She looked up at the Lynel and crossed her arms, as if this was all business as usual.

“Aren’t you going to run off to Ganon, Silver?” she asked. “Tell the big boss what I’ve done?”

Silver grunted. “The way I see it, ma’am, this is the only place I have in the city. And you took it over. Lynels always follow the strongest, and you bested your uncle something fierce.”

Malon smiled. “Damn straight. The Ranch is under my control now, and I’m glad to have you on my side. Think you could do me a favor?”

“As the lady wishes.”

“Do you think you could convince some of the others to play wise? I know you won’t win all of them back, especially some of the Blins, but I have a feeling that we’re going to need more muscle around here.”

The Lynel smirked and showed a hint of fang. “It’s a tall order, ma’am. I’ll make a few calls, if that suits you.” Malon waved him through, and he started towards the back office and the phone lines. He stopped next to me and pulled a lingering shard of glass out of his arm muscle, flicking it away. He reached into a secret place behind the bar, pulled out my revolver, and handed it to me. “You’re a strong fighter, silent one. You have my respect.”

I looked up at the bouncer and nodded once, taking my revolver back, hoping I had disguised the utter shock I was feeling right now to be complimented by a Lynel. He grunted with something akin to satisfaction and ducked his way into the office.

Malon stood at the center of the club, surveying her new domain. She eventually took in the whole scene and stopped to look at me. “I know. You have to go.”

She walked up to me and placed her hands on my chest, smoothing out my shirt and fixing the last button. “You have a job to do, and life isn’t fair. I was more than ready to get rid of my uncle, and yours was taken away too soon.”

We kissed, deep and passionate, like the world would break once we pulled apart. She finally pulled away and put her hands on both sides of my face, locking eyes to say she meant every last word. “Find the killer. Find the truth. Put an end to this hell for good.”

I told her I would.

“And come back to me, Silent. Come back to me, so I never miss the chance to say I love you again.”

I turned and grabbed my coat off the bar. I checked that my revolver was still loaded. There was a good chance I would be needing its services soon. I left the club to track down this good cop, and even though I wanted to tell her I would be back soon, I knew it was unlikely.

The way things were going, there was a good chance I wouldn’t be coming back alive, and I didn’t want to waste a single word on a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for Original Song and Lyrics: "Why Don't You Do Right?" (Kansas Joe McCoy and Peggy Lee, Decca, 1936)


	3. Chapter 3

Some days, the world is your oyster, and some days you find yourself being chased by a giant lizard down a dead end street.

Then again, that’s just the kind of city we live in. On the face of things, it looked like a normal day of gridlock traffic and angry shopkeepers and your run-of-the-mill gang violence. Any bloke with an ounce of street smarts knows how to steer clear of that nonsense. It’s the underbelly of this city that will kill you.

After leaving the club, I decided to take the long way to the police station in case any of Ingo’s goons were trying to tail me. Aside from Silver, the rest of the goons seemed pretty lightweight. I was counting on them to quit dogging my heels when they realized I was headed toward the North District. 

It was quite the idyllic picture, this part of town, a heat-stricken urban sprawl wedged between a decaying bypass and a ghetto of brick death traps. It was the perfect place to house your city’s undesirables or lay low after a job went south. And it was all built on a steep incline of volcanic earth, hot granite, and concrete sidewalks that would make you hate any creature that had wings instead of feet. Did I mention that it was really damn hot?

Most business folk preferred to take the bypass and shake their heads in cheap sympathy for the poor devils who lived in the North District, but there were a couple good reasons to set up shop if you had the moxie. There was quick access to the city’s mining operations, so if you were looking to carve up gemstones or build bombs for the highest bidder, this was your place. A whole slew of bazaars in this district were dedicated to wares both dazzling and explosive.

The other reason was poaching, but you had to be a real dunderhead to take part in that profession.

I was passing by a couple street bazaars and boarded up shop fronts, feeling the strain on my legs with every block I left behind, when I just happened to notice one of these dunderheads practicing his trade. He was a human who looked like a beetle, wrapped head to toe in fireproof leather and carrying a massive pack of goods and tools on his back. Hooks, barbed spears, and the odd fuse were sticking out of his pack, but right now he was making use of a crowbar to pull back a manhole cover.

The beetle man dropped the metal lid to the side and looked up and down the street, probably making sure other poachers weren’t getting wise to his activity. He pulled a length of rope and a strangely shaped sack from his pack. He tied the sack securely to the end of the rope and began lowering it down the manhole.

The door of a bazaar shop crashed open behind him. The beetle man jerked to attention as a burly man with a grizzled beard and hairy gorilla arms charged towards him. “I warned you, Terry! Get outta here before you wreck my shop!”

But Terry wouldn’t let go of the rope. “I need this, Slim! The king will have my hide if I don’t gut a dragon by nightfall. I’m just trying to make a living, same as you!”

“You’re gonna kill us, that’s what you’re gonna do, dangling that gem bait!”

“Ack! Slim... you’re choking me!”

As Slim the shopkeeper grabbed Terry and shook him silly, I realized my natural curiosity had gotten the better of me and it probably wouldn’t be that healthy to stick around for the show. Unfortunately, I was proven right when I felt the first tremor shake underground.

Terry and Slim must have felt the tremor, too. Slim threw the beetle man aside and ran back into his shop, slamming the door behind him. Terry fumbled anxiously with his pack and pulled out a small bomb, but the bomb fell out of his shaking hands and rolled down the sidewalk before he could light the fuse.

And it was a real shame for Terry, because a giant green head shot out of the manhole and latched onto him with a nasty set of teeth. The beetle man became a bloody mess as he was crushed between the jaws. He only had time for a quick scream before he was dragged down the hole and the streets got real quiet.

Yeah, this was a bad scene alright, but every instinct told me it would be heaps worse if I moved. It was something I heard a while back at another hole in the wall bar. An old man was jabbering on about street dragons while we ordered our drinks. What was it he said the dragons hated? I couldn’t remember for the life of me, and that really bothered me since my life was probably on the line. I did remember one thing the old geezer told us. If you had a choice, you had best stay quiet and plant yourself like a Deku Scrub. Street dragons could hear footsteps and whispers from a mile away.

Which meant this one could definitely hear Slim, who must have thought the coast was clear. He peered out the window of his shop. “Is it gone?” he asked no one in particular.

He got his answer from the street itself as the concrete around the manhole cracked. Tremors shook through the brick buildings and windows shattered all around. The concrete around the manhole heaved and steam blew through the hole like a geyser, that is, if your garden variety geyser could growl like a demon while it huffed and puffed.

A scaly arm covered in blood shot up through the manhole and stabbed down into the sidewalk with claws the size of butcher knives. Hell with it. It was time to run.

I retraced my steps post haste, praying to the goddess that I could pick up some speed going downhill. The thing was, so could that thing. Dragon steps were beating against the streets and that old geezer’s words were beating on my brain like hot piano keys. He was telling his bar mates that you’d best stay quietly rooted and pray it doesn’t find you, because nothing outruns a street dragon. Either you’re gonna kill it or it’s gonna kill you, and I was pretty sure I knew the score on that front.

The dragon’s jaws were snapping something fierce behind me. The sound was a little too close for comfort, so I made the snap decision to round a street corner just as the street dragon lunged at me. The beast smashed into a parked car and both it and the car went rolling downhill. The dragon shrieked and the metal clanged as it rolled out of sight.

I fought to catch my breath when a whole new ruckus started up. Several chicken coops were stacked in front of a bazaar shop nearby, and the occupants were in a frenzy. As the chickens screeched and flapped wildly against their cages, a young woman in a green skirt struggled to keep them calm. A man’s voice shouted at her from inside the bazaar.

“Angie, get inside! Are you crazy!?”

A harsh hissing noise filled the air. An explosion of dragonfire sent the wrecked car tumbling uphill. I looked over at Angie, who was frantically moving the cages and trying to save her birds. I swore under my breath. She might as well be laying out salt shakers and sauce plates for the beast. This was a lizard smorgasbord in the making, and Angie was about to become the main course.

The city shook with dragon fury. I grabbed Angie’s hand just as she pulled a small chicken from one of the coops, cradling it in the crook of her arm. She protested loudly as I tried to pull her away, but then the tremors started up again.

I drew my revolver as the beast rounded the corner. Damn, it was ugly. Medium-sized Dodongo dragon, by the looks of it. It stared back at us with black sunken eyes, baring its fangs through a gross underbite and exposed gums. The gray and green scales protruding from its body looked like boils or some other kind of growth, scattered over a sinewy body of patched and leather skin. Its tail flicked side to side. Its mouth opened wide in what looked like a hideous grin and the hissing sound started up again.

I fired a shot into its mouth, which stopped the hissing noise but did little more than piss it off. The dragon shook its head from side to side and glared at us. As we ran up the street, I managed to get off a few more direct hits at its nose, but the bullets just ricocheted off the scales and chipped the bricks of a nearby wall.

The dragon began shuffling towards us, picking up speed, and I figured my number had finally come up. We booked it in the other direction as fast as we could, but I knew that wasn’t going to get us taken off the menu, not by a long shot. So it came as a real surprise when we were still on our feet and the dragon crashed into Angie’s shop.

The chicken coops exploded into broken boards and twisted mesh. Angie cried out in dismay and I felt real sorry for her, but I was more concerned with keeping our skins intact. I saw a golden opportunity and pulled Angie and her pocket chicken into a nearby alley.

I held my breath and motioned for Angie to be real quiet as we listened to the dragon grunt and gnash its teeth. Fortunately, the chicken in her arms seemed to be a real dope, as it kept still and just stared into space with two blank, beady eyes. I edged myself against the wall and peered around the corner.

Feathers were floating wildly through the air, but there didn’t seem to be any bird guts strewn about the sidewalk. I realized why when I saw the dragon, struggling to reach the horde of chickens on his back that were pecking away at the looser scales and actually drawing blood. It looked like the beast was having a real time of it, unable to twist its thick neck around to snap at the birds, so it just kept gnashing its teeth in frustration.

An idea flashed through my head. I looked up the alleyway on the opposite side of the street. The North District was cross hatched into a continuous grid pattern, and every valuable resource could be found further uphill. It made transport a hell of a lot easier for the shopkeeps, miners, and, most importantly, the poachers. I could lead the dragon away from Angie and use the corners as cover, slipping out of sight as the poachers descended on their new prize, saving my skin and this part of town from any more grief.

I turned to Angie and motioned for her to keep out of sight. Her pocket chicken, that vicious little bugger, snapped at one of my fingers, but Angie was able to keep him in line. She nodded to let me know she understood, then slowly dropped to the ground behind a trash can. I grabbed the lid off the can along with a discarded pipe that I found lying nearby and tiptoed gently into the streets.

The dragon was still focused on the poultry brigade going to town on its backside when I reached the alley on the other side. Before I was out of sight, I started to bang on the lid with the pipe. The dragon immediately jerked its head toward the ruckus and I took off down the alley.

I toppled trash cans behind me as I ran. The cans were crunched and hurled aside as the dragon roared behind me. I rounded the first corner into a string of derelict shops. The windows of abandoned buildings shattered as the dragon smashed against them.

I kept rounding corners, keeping the chase going uphill, when my brilliant plan suddenly went up in smoke. The next alleyway that I chose for my daring escape was a broken mess. The concrete was torn to hell. A construction gate and blocks of stacked granite were, well, blocking my way. So much for a continuous grid.

I turned around just as the dragon reached the alley. Survival instinct kicked into full gear and I hurled the pipe at the beast, which caught it off guard long enough for me to draw my revolver. I took aim and planted two bullets into its soft back, but that wasn’t enough. The gun clicked on empty chambers, and my body was too exhausted to continue.

The dragon snarled and lashed out.

I braced for sudden pain and death, only to realize that I was still standing with my eyes shut tight. I opened one eye and found the dragon struggling in place, clawing at the pavement in an effort to charge me. As if that wasn’t weird enough, the dragon was soon lifted straight up into the air by something holding its tail. It was thrown against the wall to my right, crashing into the brick and mortar. The beast dropped to the ground with a dust cloud in its wake.

The dust began to settle, and I saw the shadow of a large man walking down the alley. The man lit a cigar and cracked the muscles in his neck. The crunching noises sounded like boulders smashing together.

As he stepped into view, I realized the man was actually a Goron in a three-piece suit and fedora. His cigar dropped ash over his neck beard as he looked me up and down, grimacing.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked, gruff and pointed.

Before I could answer, the dragon kicked out its legs. The Goron turned to the dragon and pulled a round item from his pocket.

“Excuse me,” he said, charging the dragon as it opened its mouth and started to hiss. The Goron grabbed the underbite of the dragon’s jaw with his stone hand. He lifted the item in his other hand against his lit cigar, causing a fuse to burst on what was clearly a small bomb. He thrust his fist and the bomb down the beast’s throat, causing it to make a shocked, guttural noise in place of the hissing.

The Goron turned back to me. “You’d better stand clear, kid!”

I had just enough time to dive into a trash heap as the bomb went off, causing the dragon to puff outward at the gullet. Blood and gore and shrapnel sprayed out of the throat as the giant lizard turned a dark shade of gray. While the beast was busy being torn to pieces from the inside out, the Goron held fast and kept his fist in the dragon’s mouth. He jerked his hand out of the gutted throat, now gripping a dark purple organ in his fist.

He turned away from the dragon carcass and held the organ up for me to see. He smirked and puffed on his cigar, clearly enjoying his victory.

“Dodongo dislikes smoke,” he said, pulling out his butane lighter and setting the organ ablaze. The burning organ produced a dark, nightshade haze before the Goron dropped it to the ground and stomped it to cinders under his boot.

The Goron held out his large hand in my direction. I grabbed hold and he hoisted me up so fast I thought I was about to be hurled into the brick wall. But no, I landed safely on my feet and looked up at the Goron towering over me. He turned away, patting dust off of his suit. He removed a short golden chain from his coat pocket. There was a ruby attached to the chain, which he touched to his forehead and mumbled something that sounded like a rhyming prayer.

A wailing siren filled the air and an armored police van skidded to a stop outside the alley. I watched as several Gorons in black tactical gear leapt out of the van and a few bulblins in uniform rode up on motorcycles. They surrounded the dragon carcass and stood guard over the alley as an old Goron with a crooked back and a sour look approached us.

“Damn it all to hell, Darunia, how many times do I have to tell you?” yelled the old Goron, hot steam blowing through his nose. “Do not engage a Dodongo dragon solo! If you’re outnumbered and this beast gets filched by poachers—”

“—there will be hell to pay and drugs on the street,” said Darunia, focusing more on his cigar than the old Goron. “All’s well that ends well, chief. I took care of that little problem when I killed the beast.”

The chief narrowed his eyes and stammered, “You... you mean...”

“See for yourself.”

The chief made his way over to the dragon carcass, pushing aside some of the officers that circled the Dodongo. He leaned over and examined the throat, but it didn’t take long for the old Goron to realize what had happened. It was hard to make out through all of the dust floating through the air, but I could have sworn that I saw hot steam blowing out of the chief’s ears.

“Blast it all, Darunia!”

Darunia smirked and stubbed out his cigar on a nearby trash can. “Yeah, that was pretty much the plan.”

The chief wheeled around to face him, his stone face boiling red. “No bombs! Isn’t that what I ordered back at the station? No frickin’ bombs!”

Darunia grunted. “Seemed like pretty effective pest control to me, boss. There was only one casualty, and that was one of the poachers who incited the incident.”

“But the organ! You have to make sure the drug organ—”

“—is kept out of the wrong hands? I wouldn’t worry about King Dodongo getting his hands on any more product, chief. You’re standing in the ashes.”

The chief angrily loosened his shirt collar and strode up to Darunia, looking up at his subordinate with fire in his eyes. “You want to run that by me again, lieutenant?”

Darunia looked down on the chief and kept his cool. “I lit the damn thing on fire. Little chance that it will show up on the black market now. We wouldn’t want that happening, would we, chief?”

I was pretty sure fisticuffs were about to ensue. I heard nicer threats exchanged between rival gang members. But the chief must have decided it wasn’t worth making a scene, because he just grunted loudly and stomped back to the police van.

“Tag it and bag it, gentlemen! Load whatever is left into the back and report to the North Precinct,” he shouted. He opened the passenger door to the van and pointed at Darunia. “You, my office, now!”

Darunia was too busy lighting another cigar as the chief slammed his door. The officers wrapped up the dragon remains in plastic and loaded the carcass into the back of the van. They peeled out of the streets as quickly as they had arrived, and I was left standing next to the one good cop in the city, if you could trust the confession of that rotten Ingo.

Before I could ask this one good cop for a helping hand, though, he grabbed my wrists and slapped a pair of cuffs around them.

“You’re under arrest, kid. Trying to poach a Dodongo is a serious offense in this town.” 

I started to protest as Darunia dragged me out of the alley, but the Goron wasn’t about to budge now.

“I suggest you use this time to get the facts straight, because you’re gonna have to tell me one hell of a story to dig yourself outta this cavern.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Welcome to the ring of fire, kid. Watch your step.”

I stumbled around the street corner as Darunia pushed me on. I felt like pushing back, as if it would do any good for the flea to push the dog. All the dog had to do was scratch out the flea and send it packing to hell, where the streets were fire red.

Turns out I didn’t have to wait for hell after all. The streets were already flooded with red light. I looked up and caught a glimpse of the police station. It was a fortress, a solid mountain of burnt umber brick and steel. Police cars and motorcycles were flashing their lights, pulling in and out of the fortress, but one light drowned out all of the others. The ring of fire, as he called it, a great red band of urgent color that wrapped around the top of the station, and I was just the next unlucky sap to get caught in the flames.

That was all I could take in with a glimpse, though, before Darunia yanked the back of my trench coat over my head and turned out the lights.

He patted the top of my head. “Take my word for it. It’ll be better this way.”

Yeah, better. That was a laugh. Even with Darunia leading the way, I became the proud owner of a few new bruises and a stubbed toe. He practically lifted me up the station steps, but the courtesies were soon tossed out the window. He shoved me through some kind of revolving door and I banged my shoulder, shouting a few choice words as we stepped inside.

I heard a new voice and some very large footsteps approaching while my pain receptors kept on ringing. “Whoa-ho-ho, little brother! Looks like you got yourself a real fighter there.”

“Evening, Bigs. Interrogation chamber free?”

I couldn’t see this Bigs character, but he had the same boulder-rolling quality to his voice that Darunia had. He was most likely another Goron. That, and the room shook a little as he walked up to us. “Far as I know, lieutenant. They just finished grilling that Ingo fellow. One of the deputies lost big money on the races. Boy, when he found out Ingo was cheating him, he gave that sleazeball a good sucker punch! I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes, I tell you what.”

Darunia grunted. “You don’t wear shoes, Bigs. That would be a crime against shoe merchants everywhere.”

The other Goron laughed. “You ain’t lying, little brother! No one could keep up with these gorgeous hill stompers.” Based on the rough shaking that the place had to endure, I imagined that Bigs decided to break into a little dance routine to show off said stompers.

I nearly tripped over my own feet as Darunia shoved me forward. “Excuse us, Bigs, but I gotta get this one booked before the chief demotes me, unless you wanna intervene and smooth things over between us.”

Bigs sucked in a gust of wind through his teeth. “Ooh, sorry, Darunia. It’s gonna take a whole lot more than magic words to repair that breach.”

“You’re telling me. See ya, Bigs.”

We made our winding way through the station, and the curious son of a bitch inside me was throwing a temper tantrum that I was blind to the mayhem around me. Bokoblins were cackling, Gorons were grunting, and some poor soul was swearing to the goddess that he'd been framed. The further we walked, though, I began to notice some kind of marching rhythm to the place. Fists pounded on the desks, thump thump thump. Paperwork swiped through the typewriters, ding ding ding. This outfit definitely rolled along to its own beat, and the drummers were busy rolling over their prisoners and crushing them flat.

One of the coppers snorted as we marched on. Bokoblin, by the sound of him. “Heard you gutted yourself a real beauty, lieutenant. Someone must’ve flushed their pet lizard down the toilet again. Was she a looker?”

“About as good looking as your wife, Pig Snout.”

That one sure upped the tempo. Pig Snout sounded like he was raring to go, but he must have been held back by his fellow officers since we kept right on moving. Surprisingly, I felt the cuffs around my wrists being loosened as Darunia twisted his key into them. I felt my hands yanked free, but it was all too good to be true. A door was thrown open and I was thrown inside a small room, barely catching the side of a table as I fell forward.

Darunia stood in the doorway. “Cool your heels, mister fighter. I need to hammer out some business.”

He turned out the lights, slammed the door, and turned the key. I had been under arrest for less than an hour, and already I was being thrown into solitary.

* * *

My reprieve was a blinding light, several hours later. I rubbed my hands against my eyes as the room came back into focus. There was a wide mirror on the far wall, but no way of telling if it was the two way variety. Otherwise, it was a bare bones chamber. Two chairs, one long table, and no hope of escape.

Darunia strode into that chamber carrying a folder and a plastic evidence bag. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and he was all harsh business. If his looks didn’t clue you into that, he proved it by slapping the folder down on the table and crashing into his seat. He left the evidence bag next to his chair, probably to be used as later ammunition.

“Alright, kid, I’m gonna warn you up front,” he said. “I’m in no mood for lies or cryptic answers. The chief of police just chewed me out, and unless I move fast, he’s going to make sure I get canned or experience an unfortunate ‘accident’ on the job. So let’s cut to the chase.”

He opened the folder and took out an old newspaper clipping, yellowed and brittle. He slid the clipping across the table, but I already knew what the headline was all about.

FITZGERALT FAMILY UNMASKED, TORTURE CHAMBERS UNCOVERED. 

There were two photographs underneath. One showed an old gentleman in a fancy suit leaving an office building, crowded by reporters and dismay plastered all over his face. The other showed some schmuck walking away from the camera, but he wasn’t fast enough to keep his face out of the papers.

Darunia pointed at the schmuck in the second photo. “I thought I recognized you, but I had to pull the files to be sure. You obviously weren’t proud of uncovering that piece of family history, Mr. Masters. So tell me, how does a private eye of your calibre get duped into handing the keys to the city over to Ganon?”

I looked up at the lieutenant, face burning hot. This copper knew damn well that there was more to the story than a shocking headline.

The Goron picked up the clipping and looked it over. “Truth is, I didn’t buy it at the time. Something wasn’t quite right. It all seemed too convenient, like someone else was calling the shots or maybe, I don’t know, planting the clues so you would stumble right into them.”

Darunia looked across the table at me, and I stared right back. We could both tell that the other had seen some real shit in his day. Something changed in the air between us, but it was too soon to tell if he wanted to be my pal.

I asked the lieutenant how he figured that was the case. Darunia leaned back in his chair and pulled a cigar from his pocket. “My old man was a cop, way back in the golden days, and he was a real good friend of Mr. Fitzgeralt. He did a good turn for the family, saved them a lot of ransom money when he foiled a plot to kidnap his daughter. Fitzgeralt was always grateful and kept my dad in the loop, which is probably why he mentioned the family troubles. Told my old man a little too much, maybe.”

The Goron scowled as he lit the cigar, taking two deep puffs before he continued. The smell was something else in a room this size. 

“Turns out the Fitzgeralt clan weren’t the spotless royals we took them for. The family patriarchs had struck some kind of a deal with the underworld long ago, and they had done a real good job of keeping the deal secret and the goons quiet. But then it became a problem. Some of those goons were going big time, raking in the cash and buying up power. Some of them kept to shady dealings, but others wanted a higher place in society.”

Darunia leaned across the table and spoke through burning cigar ash. “And what better way to get that higher place than knocking out the family above you? That’s exactly what Ganon did to the Fitzgeralts by dragging their names through the dirt. I don’t know if the facts were straight or if he framed them, but he must have bought off all the right people to take their place. You don’t go from being a two-bit mob boss to city overlord without some kind of leverage.”

The clipping and the copper’s words were old news to me, and I told him as much. I asked Darunia if he arrested me just to give me a history lesson.

Darunia chuckled. “No, Mr. Masters, you’re not under arrest. The thing is, I want you to go undercover.”

The lieutenant picked up the evidence bag, unclasping the press seal and removing what looked like a dark, wooden bowl. He placed the bowl upside-down on the table, at which point I could see it wasn’t a bowl at all. It was a mask.

The mask looked a bit like the lieutenant, just a little younger and a lot more innocent. It had the same purple eyes that were common for Gorons, but the carved mouth was turned up in a slight smile and there was only a trace of tan facial hair etched under the lips.

“I know damn well that crooked cops walk these streets. I was just grilled by a chief who probably draws a profit from black market goods, and I intend to unmask every one of them. I need your help on the beat, but I also need your connections. If they saw your face, your help would be worth octorok spit to me. You put on this enchanted mask, and you’ll just be another bright-eyed Goron rookie training under old Darunia. That is, until I need you to look like yourself again.”

Darunia put out his cigar in a nearby ashtray. “I need your help solving a case, Mr. Masters, one that’s been stinking up this joint for far too long.”

And there it was, my reward for coming out of hiding. Another case and another chance to be used. Then again, this was one Goron who didn’t care a lick for Ganon, and I was going to need his help to decipher my uncle’s cryptic evidence. I decided to keep my mouth shut and let this one play out.

“Before everything went south,” said Darunia, “Fitzgeralt must have been worried about the family secrets, because he asked my old man to look into King Dodongo. That piece of dirt has been forcing his product on this district for a long time, getting some good Goron folk addicted to the drugs, making them too poor to feed their starving families. But Fitzgeralt told him that the drugs were only half of the king’s operation. The other half was secrets, and the king had a treasure chest full of them somewhere in his hideout.”

The Goron breathed out and turned his attention to the door, or maybe he was looking through the darker vaults of his memory. “It was the last case my old man ever took. They found him dead a week before Ganon took over. I was just a rookie at the time, but I swore I would rise up in the ranks and bring his killer to justice, no matter what it took. Even if it meant dealing with mercenary detectives like yourself.”

Now the skies were starting to clear up. The lieutenant was after a lot more than blowing up dragons and burning up drug organs. He was after the big kahuna, the infamous druglord himself. King Dodongo. 

I told him that was real admirable and wished him the best of luck, but he wasn’t going to get far by sticking me on the beat. I had no connections to the king.

“I think you do, Mr. Masters,” said Darunia, smiling as he delivered some unpleasant knowledge. “You remember a fellow by the name of Roam?”

Yeah, I remembered Roam. We ran in the same circles back in the day, seeing as we were both private eyes. I helped him uncover some key evidence in a gangland murder case, but you wouldn’t know it from talking to Roam. He was a hot-headed fighter who liked to swoop in and save the day, even if he didn’t do a shred of work beforehand. We took to calling him the Eagle, and it wasn’t a compliment. He still owed me big, and he knew it.

Darunia nodded as I ran this profile by him. “Yeah, that’s how my contact described him. I also have it from a very reliable source that Mr. Roam is on the king’s payroll. Seems the king is using the Eagle to hunt down welchers who skip out on payments, so I need you to call him up and ask for the same job. If you find the location of the hideout, we can bust in and figure out who has been dealing with the king. The bad guys go down. Case closed.”

Nice summary, but it was a long shot. I told Darunia that I had to make the call to Roam using a secure line, one that was set up in my office. I also told him that if I was going to put my neck anywhere near the chopping block, I would need something from him.

“What did you have in mind?”

I pulled my uncle’s ragged note from my coat pocket and showed Darunia the symbol. He had a hard look in his eyes as he reviewed the triangle and letters. I could tell he recognized it.

“Tell you what,” he said, handing the note back to me. “You help me bust the king, and I’ll find some way to return the favor.”

He slid the Goron mask across the table.

“So, what do you say, partner?”

I had a deep, sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, and that feeling only increased when I held the mask over my face. I felt like a damn clown, but then the enchantment took hold. Literally.

The sides of the mask adhered to my face, like there were a thousand wooden hands reaching out and grabbing hold of my skin. I’m not exactly sure what happened in the next few minutes. I’m pretty sure I pushed myself away from the table. Something clattered behind me, probably the chair. I grabbed the wooden mask out of pure animal instinct, knowing deep down that this was not the kind of thing that should be on me, gripping me, changing me.

The next thing I remember is Darunia crouching down beside me, snapping his fingers in my face. Damn, my face felt weird. It felt kind of stretched, elongated. Pretty much all of my muscles ached, and my balance had shifted completely. As the lieutenant helped me to my feet, I glanced at myself in the mirror and saw a Goron staring back.

Well, what do you know? Magic.

* * *

Darunia got to work completing the illusion. He took me over to the station locker room and got me a uniform that fit this new body. He introduced me to the station secretaries as one of the recruits. Over the next day, they hammered out my new name on the typewriters, chiseled it into a shiny new badge, and just like that, I was forged into the rookie cop Darmani, a tough young Goron who was itching for a chance to prove himself on the beat.

We left the station early the next morning, leaving everyone under the impression that the lieutenant was going to show this young Goron the ropes and some hard truths about working the beat. We passed through a few areas of the North District, probably just to keep up appearances. Darunia stopped by Slim’s bazaar and asked the shopkeep a few questions about the beetle man. We paced around the lower slums to deter any shady deals or outright selling of Dodongo smoke. We chatted with others in the area, asking safe questions and leaving without answers, returning to our paces.

The sun started to set, marking the end of my first day on the job, when the lieutenant decided to change up our routine.

“Nice work today, rookie. How about we head downtown and grab a drink? I hear there’s a nice place on Park. You can call your wife, tell her what a swell job you did.”

The streets were still crowded with shopkeeps and ne'er-do-wells, so Darunia must have decided that it was safer to speak in code. I caught his drift well enough.

As we made our way south, I noticed that Darunia was gripping the ruby and gold chain tight in one hand, and he even pressed it against his forehead at one point and mumbled something. Seeing as the streets were getting emptier the further south we walked, I thought it would be as good a time as any to ask about it.

“This? My old man left it to me. I just like speaking to it when I take a big step, you know?”

It was the first time the lieutenant sounded less than confident. He held the ruby in the palm of his hand, looking down at it with a little sadness in his eyes. “It’s just, I can’t explain it, but it feels like there’s some kind of residual energy inside the gem, so I like to tell it things. Just in case.”

Again, it wasn’t too difficult to decipher his meaning. Darunia probably hoped that the spirit of his old man was lingering inside that ruby, guiding him in his quest for vengeance. It made sense, considering the kind of adversity he had to face day in and day out. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I had seen gemstones like that before, and they were almost always filled with illusion magic to dispel barrier seals. It was basically a fancy key, but I kept silent. Even a tough Goron needs something to boost his morale every now and then.

Darunia must have taken that silence as judgment. He quickly wrapped the ruby in its gold chain and tucked it away in his coat pocket. “Forget it. Let’s just get to your office.”

His expression made his stone face harder and more intimidating, which must have been a feat in and of itself. As we walked a few more blocks in stone cold silence, though, I noticed that his features were starting to soften, and it seemed to coincide with a soft whistling sound that echoed in the streets.

Darunia placed a hand on my shoulder. “Hold up. I love this tune.”

He veered from the sidewalks and made his way down an alley, following the whistling sound. I followed close behind. We took a few twisting turns through the inner paths of the city, and the whistled tune kept getting louder as we walked. I had to admit, it was pretty darn catchy.

We turned a corner and were greeted with the warm amber glow of a lantern. The alley dead ended into a small village of boxes and trash cans and makeshift forts. There were weeds growing between the concrete and trash cans with soil packed inside, vegetable leaves hanging over the sides. And there was the street urchin at the end of the alley, wearing her green cap, sitting on an upside-down trash can, and whistling her catchy tune.

“Evening, Saria,” said Darunia, walking up to the urchin. 

Saria grinned and ran up to the lieutenant.

“Hiya, big brother! Did you find your new friend yet?” 

“We’re on our way to have a little chat. Any other news from the wise old owl?”

Saria reached under her trash can to remove a piece of paper. “Here you go! Grandpa Rauru has it from good sources that the king keeps his secrets in a pretty specific place, and I don’t mean he writes them on his hand like a great big cheat.”

Darunia took the paper from Saria and read over the contents. He handed it over my way. The message was short. _The king keeps a notebook_. Darunia nodded. “Find that, and we’ll find out who makes deals with the devil.”

Saria walked away from Darunia and looked me over head to toe, scratching her head. “Haven’t we met somewhere, mister?” I looked away slightly, uncomfortable, but she just shook her head and smiled. “Nah, I don’t see any Gorons around here, other than big brother. But you look alright to me.”

Darunia took the message back and pulled out his lighter. Ashes tumbled to the alley floor as he held the flame under the paper. “Listen, Saria, you be careful delivering these messages. There’s a lot of people gunning for the Seven right now.”

Saria scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Who’s going to pay attention to a dirty scamp like me? Besides, a wise old owl told me that _you_ should watch _your_ back. He’s pretty sure the chief is going to stick a knife in it soon.”

Darunia grunted. “Tell me something I don’t know. Be seeing you, Saria.”

“Good luck, big brother! Hope to see you again in one piece!”

We left the urchin and the alley behind us, finding our way out of that twisting maze and coming out again close to Park Avenue. I led the way into the lobby of my office building, which seemed a hell of a lot smaller than before. It must have been the huge body I found myself stuck in. I guess that would be as good an excuse as any for walking through the lobby and bumping into a new vase with my lumbering Goron arms.

The guard at the desk ran over to us, distraught over the hundred broken pieces that scattered across the floor. Darunia flashed his badge and told him that their offices would cover any damages, but we had an appointment with Silent Masters that couldn’t be missed. The guard grumbled and let us go up, but I was pretty sure I had ruined this place for other visiting Gorons.

As we entered my office and I made my way over to the safe, I realized we were going to have a problem with these huge, clumsy hands and this new image I made for myself. Darunia must have realized the same thing.

“You got a record player?”

I pointed to an old gramophone with a brass horn in the corner. The lieutenant started rifling through the records that were stacked beside the player, making me wonder what he was doing and what kind of shape the records would be in after he got done handling them.

“You need something that soothes the soul. Maybe something by Sharp and Flat, or... yeah, this should do it.”

Darunia turned on the gramophone and slid the record onto the turntable, dropping the needle on the grooves. The record sound crackled through the office and soon we were listening to the alluring voices of the Indigo Sisters, backed up by a droning bass and drumming rhythm. 

_Never know how much I love you_

_Never know how much I care_

_When you put your arms around me_

_I feel a healing hand that’s oh so fair_

Their voices always reminded me of the way Malon would sing, filled with a deep and steady passion. I waited for something to happen, but the only thing I felt now was a deep and gut wrenching loneliness. I realized Darunia was watching me as the sisters sang on, and it was making me a little uneasy.

_You’re giving me healing_

_Healing when you kiss me_

_Healing when you hold me tight_

Something was happening. It started out as a burning sensation around my face, like I was running a red hot fever. I leaned against the wall and tried to keep myself balanced, but I couldn’t stop the convulsions that came over me when the Indigo Sisters shouted the next verse.

_Healing!_

_Healing in the mornin’_

_Healing all through the night..._

I shook something fierce and sweated through the mask, which suddenly dropped off my face. It made a hollow, wooden sound as it rolled around the floor. 

Darunia lifted the needle off the record, and the music came to a scratching halt.

He picked up the mask and laid it on my desk. “No idea why this kind of music works, but the mask responds to it. You think Roam will recognize you now?”

I was a ragged mess gasping for air in a uniform three sizes too big, but yeah, I guessed Roam would recognize my human form a little better. He might still wonder why I was good buddies with a Goron police lieutenant, though, so I told Darunia that he’d better stand guard outside the office while I made the call.

After Darunia left, I pulled my uncle’s note out of the uniform pocket and opened a rusty locker. I changed into a new set of clothes and proceeded to pour a half of Tabantha water into a snifter. I downed the drink and tried to prepare myself for a call that promised to be half sour, half frustrating, and a whole glass full of stupid.

I unlocked the safe under my desk. As I opened the safe door, a golden light poured out, warm and inviting after all this time. A golden record was sitting on the top shelf, just as I had left it seven years ago.

I pulled out the record and gave it a once-over. The label was fairly simple, showing the white silhouette of a woman flying through the air on a pair of wings. The title NAVI was written in all caps above the woman, but that was about it. I brought the record over the gramophone, removing the Indigo Sisters from the turntable. I held the golden record flat and blew over the surface, hoping this would help smooth things over.

It helped, but not much. As I set the turntable humming and rested the needle on the grooves, a voice started to skip over and over, repeating casual greetings in a harsh, ringing tone. I moved the crystal pitch control around a bit, causing the sound to waver, then settled for smacking the side of the gramophone box.

A woman’s voice filled the room. “Why, hello there, Lin. It’s been a while.”

The hazy image of a woman hovered over the turntable, revealing a glamorous fairy in an evening gown. She placed a glistening pair of headphones over her ears and lounged on the hologram of a chaise lounge, gazing my way with soft doe eyes.

I angled the gramophone horn in my direction and leaned over the record player, which doubled as a secure line for record fairy transmissions. I asked Navi for a secure line. 

The fairy sat up from the chaise lounge and placed her hands on her hips. “Well, this is a fine how-do-you-do! No hello for the operator?”

I suddenly recalled the downside to using record fairies. They may be more secure than your average telephone line, but they’re also more annoying.

“I’m serious, Lin. You leave me cooped up in that safe for seven years and you just expect me to pick up the calls right where we left off? You humans are all the same. It’s just fine and dandy to use fairies to make a secure call or cash transaction, but the moment we need someone to listen to us and lend a sympathetic ear, you’re nowhere to be found!”

Navi went on like this for some time, and I just sat by the gramophone horn, listening. At some point, she paused mid sentence and took notice of the fact that I was giving her my undivided attention. Navi’s image brightened significantly.

“Why, Lin, you do care!” she said, breathing out a heavy sigh. “I have to admit, it sure feels good to let the words spin away like that again. I still think we should talk about your manners soon, but for now, how about we get down to business? Number, please.”

I breathed out my own sigh of relief and gave her the number, watching as a translucent switchboard appeared behind the fairy. She turned herself around on the chaise lounge and faced the switchboard, unplugging and replugging wires into the circuits.

“Now connecting you to Kakariko 24531. Please stand by!”

Navi’s hologram image pulsed as she dialed out, fading away to reveal a rundown room with a man sitting in the corner. The plaster was peeling off the walls and you could tell the guy had a major infestation problem. He didn’t seem to care much for the state of his room, though. He was too busy reveling in the joint that rested lightly on his lips, puffing away under his large, pointed nose and releasing a dark, green cloud of smoke into the room. 

I swore under my breath, thinking I had called Roam during a drug trip that would ruin any sort of deal we could make, but he snapped to attention the instant he heard me swear. He made his way over to the receiver, and even through the haze of the hologram, I could tell his eagle eyes still had a sharpness to them.

“I’ll be damned. It’s the Silent Knight himself. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

I took another shot of Tabantha to help ease the tension, which had already started to tighten the muscles around my shoulders and neck. I leaned into the gramophone horn and began dishing out the flattery, starting off by calling him my old partner and saying stuff like I desperately needed to get back into the business and what better way to do that than by getting in touch with one of the best.

I nearly gagged on the words.

Roam listened to my spiel with his customary smugness, crossing his arms and grinning under that hooked nose of his. He took a drag on his joint, nodding as if he always knew I would come calling. “Well, times is hard, Silent, you know that. Folks are scrambling for the scraps, and only the best of us managed to score a nice gig. Seeing as it’s you, though, I think I can do you a kindness. You did prove to be a decent sidekick when we took down that Blin gang.”

Thanks a million, you puffed up peacock. 

“You know the warehouse district in Kakariko Village? Give me a couple days, and I may be able to set something up with his majesty. You just have to follow the arrows.”

Roam covered a few more details and prattled on for several minutes. The moment he disconnected and his smug face disappeared, I immediately poured another shot and called out to Darunia. I offered the lieutenant a drink, which he waved away, and told him the plan.

“We’ve been patrolling those warehouses for ages. The king must be using some strong illusion magic on the hideout, so a disguise won't do. He'll see right through a mask. Did your friend tell you how to find the place?”

I told him that the arrows were the only clue, unless I also had to pick up Roam’s dirty habits and smoke my way into the joint.

Darunia chuckled as he puffed on a cigar. “Seems to me that guys in your line of business need to satisfy some kind of addiction.”

I scoffed and waved a hand through his cigar smoke. Darunia laughed loud and hard, probably scaring a few of my neighbors. “Point taken. You ready to hit the streets again? Looks like we have some scouting to do up north.”

He handed me the mask, which I begrudgingly took along with the uniform. I packed a change of clothes into an old paper bag, and as we started to leave the office, I saw Navi out of the corner of my eye. She was draping herself over the chaise lounge, happily sipping at the ions of a holographic martini.

I left the gramophone on, letting the fairy spin away the hours as she wished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for Original Song and Lyrics: "Fever" (Eddie Cooley, Otis Blackwell, and Peggy Lee, King Records, 1956-1958)
> 
> Roam is a non-canon character from Shotaro Ishinomori’s A Link to the Past comic, which was serialized in Nintendo Power magazine (January 1992 - December 1992). The Crystal Tuning Fork is an artifact created for the comic.


	5. Chapter 5

After making the switch back to my rookie cop disguise, we were back on the streets with renewed purpose. Darunia headed off to the station to recruit a few cadets, fresh faces from the academy that could still be trusted. While he was busy building a strike force, I made the rounds through the Kakariko warehouse district. 

As I made my paces and the villagers cast shifty glances at the new Goron patrolman, I started looking for the arrows that Roam mentioned. I had some trouble finding any clues and was about to chalk it up to Roam being high on smoke, until I started walking past the cemetery. One of the headstones stuck out like a dead thumb. It looked like your typical religious icon, the goddess pulling back on her bow. As I followed the path of the arrow, though, I came across an old shooting gallery and a road that ended in a point.

There was a wooden fence at the end of the road, which opened up onto a buried part of the village. Standing at the gate, I could see all of the shops and warehouses on that street were forgotten heaps, boarded up ages ago. I backed away from the gate and the ghost town before I risked blowing our cover. This was the place, alright.

I met up with Darunia soon after, relaying the details of my patrol. The next phase of the plan was about to begin, so we removed the Goron mask for good. I had a new role to play in this game, purely as myself. 

We gathered in a small room above the shooting gallery with the cadets, three Goron boys eager for some action, and the lieutenant laid out his plan. They would stake out the area from the gallery, seeing as Darunia trusted the owner. The villagers wouldn’t bat an eye at a bunch of Gorons carrying firearms around the place. The strike force would listen in on their radios as an inside man infiltrated the hideout, and whether I liked it or not, I had the distinct honor of being that inside man. It was my job to get close enough to the king, schmooze my way into the inner sanctum and find the source of illusion magic that concealed the hideout.

“And once Mr. Masters takes out the source,” said Darunia, maintaining firm and serious eye contact with his strike team, “it’s Dodongo busting time.”

Two nights later, I walked through the village gate and made my way down the streets of the ghost town, trudging through the evening mist and trying not to think about the wire taped to my chest. I popped the muscles in my neck just to get back the feeling of being human. A part of me wished that I was still trapped in that Goron body. It was a strange wish, but if the evening went according to plan, it would be real handy to have solid rock fists again.

I saw a lanky figure walking through the mist, slowly making his way towards me. He wore a brown double-breasted stripe suit, a white fedora with a small feather in the ribbon, and wire frame spectacles with dark purple lenses that hid away his eyes. Soon enough, I recognized the sharp features of Roam, showing off his teeth in a wide, arrogant grin.

“You can’t stump the great Silent Masters, can ya?” he said, his teeth grinding away at some kind of seed or gum. “Come along now. The king’s waiting.”

I followed my contact to the front door of a rundown warehouse. The door was about the only thing left standing. Brick walls were crumbling at the side, broken glass littered the streets, and the roof had a perfect view of the sky. 

Roam stopped in front of the door and handed me a pair of spectacles that matched his own, the purple lenses shining wet with the mist. “Here. Put these on.”

I put on the glasses, and the instant I did, the mist was replaced by colors. Colors that bled through dark red glass and forest green smoke. Colors that curved sensuously around an intricate golden door. Colors that swam through the neon tubes, spelling the name _Opium Dungeon_ in cursive, dream fever letters. Roam opened the golden door and gestured for me to follow. “Your fortunes are about to change, Silent. This is where the rich come to play.”

He wasn’t kidding. From the moment we walked through the front door, I was witness to a feast of decadence. Rich men with unbuttoned suit jackets and purple spectacles were reclined in their chairs, inhaling a steady stream of green smoke and biting down on honeyed fruits. A few of them had gun holsters hanging off their chairs, a warning to anyone who would take away their pleasures. We passed silk and satin-filled rooms barely covered by dangling beads, through which we could see courtesans dancing for men as they raised dragon-shaped hookah pipes to their lips. A soft, jangling sound filled the hallways, and when I looked up at the ceiling, I noticed chimes that were moving slowly, touched by the lingering smoke and a gentle illusion magic. The chimes mingled with the sounds of pleasure to produce an unsettling aura.

After moving through a labyrinth of hallways, we faced a large cover of satin drapes. Roam turned to face me. “You probably noticed that I didn’t take that shiny revolver away, but a word to the wise, you don’t want to pick a fight around here. Everyone and their lover is packing. Let me do the talking, and you’ll have a steady paycheck in no time.”

I nodded once, thinking the same thing for different reasons. Once I found the source of illusion magic, I would have to find a quiet way of taking it out. Otherwise, I risked bringing a bullet storm down on myself the moment this hideout became visible to the naked eye.

Roam pulled back the curtains. We left behind this simple pleasure house and entered a palace throne room.

It was a room that reveled in fine art, paintings of vast landscapes and beautiful bodies gracing the spaces between white marble columns. Every step of intricately woven blue and ivory carpet gave me the sensation of walking on air. Deep colors and a golden trim on the floor guided the eye until it finally rested on a wide three-tiered couch of burgundy satin. Six gorgeous women were lounging on the couch tiers, wearing silk robes and fine jewelry that emphasized the lines and curves of their bodies. One of the women stepped up to the highest tier of the couch, her bare feet silent on the cloth as she ascended. She offered a bowl of fruit to a man who sat on the highest tier, a black cane resting over his crossed legs as he surveyed the artistry of his domain.

As the woman placed the fruit at his feet, the man glanced sideways at her through dark and penetrating eyes. His face was cold and haunted, possessing sharp angles and a perfectly sculpted goatee around an ivory white mouth. His hair was black and glistening with pomade, pulled back over his skull tighter than a hangman’s noose. 

He raised a long stem pipe to his lips and drew deep on the contents, turning his head slowly to the woman and blowing a cloud of green smoke over her. The woman breathed deep and closed her eyes, sighing with delight as she lay down on the couch and drifted into bliss.

The man pierced us with his eyes. “Who have you brought us today, Mr. Roam?” he asked, his voice a drawl of unsettling pleasure that matched the aura of his dungeon.

Roam lowered his gaze, speaking with more humility than I ever expected to hear from a bloke like him. “My gracious King Dodongo, we thank you for your time and generosity. I have brought an ally to our cause. A noble knight, one Silent Masters, who will bring justice to those who dream and yet refuse to compensate the dream lord.”

I also looked down, mostly to hide my expression while Roam finished his speech. Who the hell talked like that? This was one messed up joint that the king was running.

King Dodongo stood up slowly from his throne. As he descended the tiers of the couch, the women reached out and ran their hands over his suit, smoothing away the folds and wrinkles of reality. He tapped his black cane on the floor as he approached, leaning towards me and running his fingers along the sides of his goatee. One of the women embraced the king from the side. Her eyes were distant, unfocused, translucent as a crystal. She was obviously drugged. The king smiled down at her.

“What do you think of my maidens, sir knight? Are they not beautiful?” He looked into my eyes, intently. “Please tell me the truth. I do have a way of... seeing through you.”

I had no doubts about that. His eyes were already peeling away layers of my soul. I just had to hope against hope his magic couldn’t detect raw technology, or he was going to take a great deal of interest in the wire taped to my chest.

I told him the truth. Sure, his maidens were beautiful, but could you have a decent conversation with any of them?

The king smiled in a sickening way. “You are most perceptive, Mr. Masters. That will be a valuable asset, a valuable asset indeed if I welcome you into our great company.”

He turned to the woman and held her chin delicately between his finger and thumb. “It is true, my beautiful flowers have indulged deeply in the pleasures of my kingdom, both soothing and frenzied. They are often lost in dark dreams, but I do hope to add a seventh, bright-eyed maiden to my harem soon, if the great lord Ganon deems me worthy.”

I wondered if he had already set his sights on some poor dame. The king held up his cane to eye level, showing off a dark emerald gem sitting on top. He gazed into the emerald for a long moment, as if he were listening to voices from another world. “Yes,” he said, drawing out the word. “We may welcome this youth into our service, if he proves himself worthy. But first, he must step beyond the veil.”

This guy was already making my skin crawl, so it didn’t help matters when he waved his emerald cane over a wall and made it vanish completely.

The king brushed past his devoted maiden and stepped onto a newly visible balcony. He rested a hand on the metal railing and stood next to a tall factory stairwell. He gestured with his cane to the wide open spaces below.

“Behold, sir knight, the kingdom that you would serve.”

I walked toward the balcony, Roam lingering behind me with that stupid grin on his face. I looked down into a vast factory of meticulous design and vigorous activity. Engines whirred in the background. Workers rushed to meet their quota, some cutting away at the carcasses of Dodongo dragons, others carefully handling the dark purple organs as they moved past the butchers and met up with the brewers. The brewers ground the raw drugs into vats of red and blue and green potions, creating a variety of elixirs that were then dried and packaged for delivery. Some packets of snuff were saved for the pleasure house, while others took far more interesting and elaborate journeys.

The king observed the path of my eyes. “Yes, the smoke drifts away from my throne room, but it will always reside in my kingdom. My calling, Mr. Masters, is to send others to another world, a world of dream and illusion. For those who live in this city, an illusion is far more preferable to the real thing, wouldn’t you agree?”

No arguments there, your majesty. As he spoke, I looked over the rim of my spectacles. The workers and the production floor were now invisible, the king’s illusion magic shielding his operation from the naked eye. But there was still a small, unassuming engine running in the corner of the factory, plain as day and just in range of the balcony.

The king hissed through his teeth. “Unfortunately, there are those who believe dreams should come to them free of charge. But everything in every world carries a cost.”

A pair of large feet clattered up the metal stairs. I pushed a finger against my spectacles and glanced over at the king. A moblin worker was whispering in his ear. He had a nasty-looking scar above his left eye, like someone had smashed a bottle or glass upside his head. He looked really familiar.

The king nodded at the worker, who quickly shuffled away down the stairs. The druglord kept his eyes fixed on the operation below. “Yes, everything carries a cost, Mr. Masters, as I am sure you are well aware. And you have cost me dearly. Tell me, how shall I repay you for putting one of my top buyers, the purveyor of a fine gambling establishment, behind bars?”

Damn, that’s where I had seen the moblin. He was one of Ingo’s goons, and he must have found new employment after I knocked him out cold.

Roam started to stutter behind me, dropping all pretenses and the romanticism crap. “What? No, I know Silent. He hasn’t been on the job for years. I swear, boss! I checked him!” 

“Perhaps you should have checked twice, Mr. Roam, or perhaps you allowed yourself to be deceived for sentimental reasons. Whatever the reason, I will hold you personally responsible if he leaves this room.”

I drew my revolver and leveled it at the king. Roam pulled his gun, as well, shaken and flustered. “Put it down, Silent. We go way back. I don’t want to end you.”

I slowly lowered the revolver, spreading my hands out and facing Roam. I kept hold of the gun, finger still on the trigger. 

The king chuckled. “Oh, Mr. Roam, you have overindulged yourself in our product. Must I spell everything out for you? Mr. Masters must not leave this room alive.”

I kept spreading my hands apart, lowering the revolver in my left hand to the side of the balcony. Without hesitating, I hoped memory served me well and squeezed the trigger.

The revolver went off. The bullet ripped through the illusion engine, causing the room to flicker between ghost images of the broken down warehouse and the production floor. Sparks flew into the air and the workers scattered. The visual fireworks finally settled down. I looked over the top of my purple lenses and could see the illusion was broken. The hideout and drug factory were there for all to see.

The king’s languid features transformed into a hideous mask of fury. He looked around frantically as the factory walls settled back into reality. We could hear shouts and the sounds of gunfire coming from the Opium Dungeon. The bust was underway.

King Dodongo glared at me with dragon fire in his eyes. Roaring at the top of his lungs, he pulled on the emerald stone of his cane and drew out a sleek, silver rod. He swung the rod in my direction. Electric light shot out and I braced myself for a world of pain.

Another body leapt into view. Roam thrust himself between the king and I, shouting in my direction as he gripped the balcony railing.

“Silent! Look ou—YEEEEARRGH!”

He cried out as the electric magic struck him full in the chest, coursing through his body and the metal bar. He dropped to the balcony floor with a loud clang as I turned my revolver back on the druglord, who was already making a break for it. The king ran into his throne room as I shot and narrowly missed. He threw back a curtain, disappearing behind another wall.

I could hear Roam gasping for breath on the floor. I crouched down beside him and met his eyes with a question.

“Ah, don’t look so surprised, Silent.” He coughed, droplets of blood staining his suit lapel. “I... I know damn well you were never my sidekick. You were the main event, and you know me. I couldn’t just say thanks. I had to make things square between us by taking a bolt for ya.”

He gripped my forearm, tight. I could see the eagle eyes were beginning to fade. They still had one last spark in them, though, and Roam was determined to have his last word.

“Funny. I used to get the drop on the bad guys, but not today. Now it’s all on you, Silent. It’s all on you...”

His eyes were now cold, frozen over. His hand fell away from my arm, so I held up my revolver once again, fixing my eyes on the curtains in the throne room.

I ran after the king but was soon held up by a strong, pale hand gripping me around the neck. The hand thrust me backwards, slamming me against the carpet. I looked up, gasping for air, only to see one of the maidens forcing me down with her hidden strength.

The maiden’s eyes were dagger bright and red around the pupils. There was red powder scattered across her neck and chest. She hissed into my ear. “No one hurts my king. No one!”

She straddled me across the waist, squeezing my sides between her thighs. Her silk robes shimmered with a torrent of colors, or maybe that was the last shreds of my consciousness exiting the building.

And as quickly as she had overpowered me, I felt sweet release from her crushing grip. I coughed as my lungs filled with air, glancing up to see Darunia dangling the maiden over the ground by her hair. She shrieked and spat at the Goron, her red eyes glowing with hatred.

The lieutenant looked down at me. “No time for fun, Mr. Masters. We got ourselves a druglord to catch!”

Darunia carried the maiden to the balcony and handcuffed her to the railing. She tried to lunge at him, the furious drug still pumping through her veins. “Sleep it off, darling,” he said. “He ain’t gonna be anyone’s king by morning.”

I pointed to where the king had disappeared. We pushed past the curtains and raced down a long tunnel of clanging chimes and thick smoke. Patrons and courtesans were racing between their rooms, frantically trying to escape the dungeon before they were arrested. We ignored them all. We had bigger fish to fry.

We came to a full stop. The hall ended with a decorative curtain and a bronze dragon statue. Darunia felt behind the curtains, only to find a solid wall blocking our way. He pounded his fist into the wall, plaster and brick crumbling underneath.

“Damn!” he shouted, pacing back and forth. He pulled out the ruby and gold chain, holding the gem against his forehead, pleading with it. “Come on, come on. We were so close!”

I pressed the rim of the purple spectacles against my nose, looking closely at the dragon statue. There was a faint light pulsing in its left eye, but the right was completely empty.

I reached out and grabbed the ruby from Darunia. I was sure he was about to wallop me until he realized I was fitting the gem into the statue’s right eye. The statue trembled ever so slightly, and a gust of wind blew through the curtains behind the statue.

I handed the ruby and gold chain back to Darunia, who looked down at the gemstone, awestruck. “He knew... My old man knew what he was doing.” He grinned and kissed the ruby, tucking it back into his coat as we passed through the final curtain.

We stepped into a drafty warehouse. Crates and barrels were stacked high on both sides, each stamped with coded numbers and names that didn’t make a whole lot of sense. _Dancing Scarecrow. Fierce Deity. Pure Dragon. Tingle._ Darunia lifted the lid on one of the barrels. It was filled with the same red powder that covered the maiden. He pinched a few grains of powder and sniffed, carefully.

“Fierce Deity,” he whispered, rubbing the powder off his fingers. “One of the king’s secret recipes. Heightens aggression when inhaled.”

We stepped lightly past the other so-called recipes. The moon was shining ominously through high windows, outlining parts of the room in a sharp blue and leaving others black as coal. I held up a hand to stop Darunia as we rounded a large assortment of crates.

I could see the king through the purple lenses, standing on the other side of a false brick wall. He was trembling like a Scrub, grabbing papers from his desk and tucking them away in a large notebook.

The king suddenly stopped moving. He leered at us, staring right through the brick wall and speaking to the room.

“So, you would like to be destroyed? As you wish!”

I shouted a warning to Darunia as the king grabbed his silver rod. He emerged from the false brick wall and swung it in our direction. A bolt of electricity struck the crates beside us as we leapt back, narrowly missing a quick death. The crates burst open, sending green and blue powder floating through the air. 

My vision started to blur until I had the bright idea to cover my mouth. Darunia signalled for us to backtrack, away from the powder. He removed his coat and tore off the sleeves, handing me one of the makeshift scarves that we swiftly wrapped around our mouths and noses.

We barely had time to save ourselves from being drugged when two bodies dropped down on us from above. I felt an arm grip me tight around the neck. Blonde hair fell over my shoulder as one of the maidens latched herself to my back, throwing me off course. I briefly saw the other three standing above us on a stack of crates, their eyes red in the moonlight. They each held some kind of a weapon: knives, swords, one of them even had a crossbow aimed our way.

I hurled myself backwards against the stockpile, hoping to dislodge the maiden on my back. We smashed into one of the crates, breaking the containers and sending blue powder through the air. She growled into my ear, digging her nails into my neck flesh. 

I heard the crossbow go off and turned around quickly. A bolt caught the maiden in her shoulder. She shrieked, dropping off my back, but before she could lash out again, her eyes took on a glazed over look as she inhaled the blue powder, nullifying the red and probably shocking her system. She dropped to the floor, fast asleep.

Darunia threw the maiden on his back through the air. She sailed up and crashed into a pile of barrels, which busted open in a flurry of blue dust. Whether broken bones or drugs were to blame, she wasn’t going to be rejoining this fight anytime soon.

I waved a hand through the blue cloud, catching a glimpse of the king with his notebook. He was trying to make his getaway, climbing over his stockpile to one of the high windows. I ran after him, only to be kicked in the face.

I fell to the ground and the spectacles flew off my face, clattering across the stockroom floor. One of the maidens pressed her foot against my chest. Despite her fierce aggression, she still had the cunning to wear a silk mask over her face to protect herself from the powder. She held a noticeably sharp katana over me, her red eyes focused on the kill. She swung the blade down, but it shattered when it struck Darunia’s outstretched arm.

The lieutenant reached in and grabbed the maiden, holding her under his right arm as he kept another detained under his left. The two women struggled against the Goron, clawing at the rocky shell of his forearms to no avail. 

Darunia shouted at me through his scarf. “Go get ’em, Silent!”

Yes sir. I sprinted ahead, climbing the pile of crates to the window above. I dropped several feet into a deserted alley.

At least, it seemed deserted, until the last maiden jumped me and ripped off my scarf. I caught a quick glimpse of King Dodongo, who stepped in front of me and blew a cloud of purple powder in my face.

The world swayed. I pushed the maiden away with every last ounce of strength and scrambled through the alley, tumbling over a trash can and hitting the pavement hard.

I could barely make out the king as he walked towards me. His body was already swaying in impossible ways, like he was bending at a ninety degree angle on a weathered pole.

“I’ve always been especially proud of this concoction,” said the king. The final maiden stood next to him, brandishing a long knife in her hand. “We call it Dancing Scarecrow, for reasons that are now becoming all too clear to you.”

Their bodies continued to sway and their shadows stretched long across the alley walls. A rush of winged creatures flew over them. I rubbed my eyes frantically, but this just caused the king and the maiden to split into three swaying copies of themselves.

“So tell me, Mr. Masters, have you ever danced with the scarecrow until the pale morning light?”

I knew deep down that I should be reaching for my revolver and taking them both out, the likely innocence of this last maiden be damned, but my body didn’t seem interested in doing anything besides shaking uncontrollably. They were coming for me, I was a dead man, and if I couldn’t trust my eyes, those were the only facts I could trust now.

What was it the king said? _An illusion is preferable to the real thing._ Maybe that’s what my brain preferred at that moment, because just then, a dark cloud descended upon the king and the maiden. The cloud overwhelmed the king, knocking him against the warehouse wall. The cloud drew silver knives from its sleeves and fought the final maiden, finishing her off with a flying side kick. I thought it was strange that my brain had turned the cloud into a ninja and that the ninja was now walking towards me.

I felt pain rushing through my head, my chest, my limbs, but then it all cleared up. As I coughed and sputtered, puffs of gold dust emerged from my mouth. The world came back into sharp focus, and I found myself face to face with the Sheik.

Now that I had control over myself, I drew my revolver and aimed it at the Sheik. But he just stared at me over his white scarf with the cold, blue eyes of a killer. He still wore that dark fedora and ulster coat, the same getup he had on when he up and murdered my uncle. I started to squeeze the trigger.

“Assassin!”

The Sheik turned away, apparently unconcerned that I was about to end him. He faced King Dodongo, who cowered against the walls of his warehouse, clutching his notebook to his chest. “You have no business here!” he shouted, edging alongside the wall. “When Ganon hears of your treachery—”

A large hand busted through the wall behind the king, grabbing the druglord as bricks tumbled to the pavement. Darunia gripped the king by the collar. “Now how’s that for a vanishing wall trick, your majesty?” he growled, pulling the king back into the warehouse.

I still had my gun trained on the killer, but then I noticed something glistening on my trigger finger. It was a gold powder, and when I lifted the stuff up to my nose, I got a trace of the same head clearing sensation I had experienced a moment ago.

It all came back in a rush, making a whole lot more sense this time around, the Sheik descending on the king, taking down the maiden... It was obvious. He saved my life.

I watched dumbly as the Sheik got up and walked down the alley, barely aware of the moment that I lowered my revolver. I was still aching in all the wrong places, but I had to know why. Why did he kill my uncle in cold blood but save me from certain death? I pushed myself off the pavement and called after him.

The Sheik turned around. It looked like he was actually going to speak, like he had some kind of secret that he wanted to get off his chest. He raised a hand in my direction, and then threw a metal capsule against the pavement. As I lunged forward, reaching for the assassin, I found myself surrounded in yet another thick haze of smoke. And on the other side of that smoke, there was nothing. Just an empty street.

* * *

Back in the warehouse, I could see Darunia and the cadets were already making a sweep of the premises. They had the six maidens handcuffed and were preparing to take them into custody, hopefully giving them enough time to clear their heads and forget they ever served King Dodongo.

Speaking of the devil, I saw the lieutenant had shackled the king up good. You had to be careful with these illusion wizards, and Darunia was being more than careful. He had already slapped manacles around the king’s hands and feet, and there was also a tight gag around the druglord’s mouth for good measure. The king grunted and moaned through the gag as the cadets dragged him away.

Darunia looked over in my direction, wearing a grin that was extremely wide, even for a Goron. He walked up to me and patted me on the back. “Well done, brother! Well done!”

I clenched my teeth, feeling the pain receptors go haywire as he hit me on the back. Fortunately, the lieutenant caught on real quick and settled for shaking my hand. “I don’t know how we would have done without you, Silent. We bagged ourselves one of the big bosses today, and that’s just the tip of the mountain. Dodongo was kind enough to leave this behind.”

Darunia held out the king’s notebook, a massive tome with calfskin binding, stamped in gilt. There were scraps of paper and letters sticking out at all corners, even a fancy black letter sealed with the crest of Ganon himself.

The lieutenant flipped open the pages, which were all completely blank. I looked up at Darunia, puzzled, but the Goron kept right on smiling. He held up my pair of purple spectacles, which were now missing a lens. Probably due to the kick across the face that I received from one of the maidens.

He handed me the broken spectacles. I put them back on and looked over the notebook with the one good lens.

The pages were filled with secrets.

* * *

We stood in front of the Opium Dungeon as a steady rain moved through town. The neon letters reflected off the puddles in the street, seeing as the lights were now visible to the naked eye and the hidden truths revealed.

Darunia lit a victory cigar under cover of the dungeon’s awning, enjoying a well-deserved puff as he looked out over the warehouse district. “This book gives strength to the righteous, brother,” he said, turning back to me with sincerity in his eyes. “Thank you.”

He wasn’t wrong on that account. We barely spent five minutes reading over the invisible ink, and it was clear this notebook was going to raise some hell. Conspiracy plots against the Fitzgeralt family, corruption in the police force, black market profiteers... this book had it all. There was even a reference to some kind of spy network that set up shop in the Zora Archives.

The lieutenant reached out a hand. “You still have that note from your uncle on ya?”

I pulled out the ragged note and handed it to him. He unfolded the paper and pointed at the symbol, speaking through the burning cigar still in his mouth. “Three sides to his power,” he said, pointing directly at the letter _C_. “I don’t know much about two of ’em, but this side stands for courage. The courage of a cop, or in this case, the corruption of the whole damn police force.” 

He handed the note back to me. “You’ve already seen that part of the notebook. Ganon relied on crooked cops to put him in power. The chief brags about it, even signs his letters with that side of the symbol. And Ganon still relies on the police to maintain the status quo.” 

Darunia blew a cloud of smoke into the rain. “Well, I intend to change that. I know a gal in the district courts, a vicious lawyer by the name of Nabooru. If I hand this notebook over to her, she’ll make sure justice is handed down to every last one of ’em. We might even be able to take down Ganon himself, once he loses the rest of his leverage.”

I looked down at the note, appreciating the significance of the clue. My uncle had planned to testify against Ganon, using the three sides of power as proof. Each side represented some kind of leverage that the mob boss had over this city. Remove the sides, and you removed his power. 

It sounded nice and simple when you put it that way, but then I recalled the past few days and all the shit I had to put up with just to figure out one side of the puzzle. And on top of everything else, I had a new puzzle to solve. Who was the Sheik, and why did he kill my uncle?

I tucked away my uncle's note and pulled out the letter I had taken from the king's book. We had already broken the seal on the black paper and reviewed the golden, cursive letters. It was an invitation to a fancy shindig, a masquerade ball to be precise, which was to be held at Ganon’s mansion in a couple days.

Darunia saw me reading over the invitation again. “You’re sure you want to be messing with that?” he asked. “Yeah, you may run across a few more clues, but you’ll also be running into a death trap. I don’t care who you ask. There ain’t no illusion magic or disguise that can hide you from Ganon himself.”

I held onto the invitation. I told him that I might know a guy.


	6. Chapter 6

“You’re going to meet with a terrible fate, aren’t you, Mr. Masters?”

The tailor stood behind me, running his measuring tape over the width of my shoulders. We stood in front of a fitting room mirror with a sleek, silver trim. He appraised my reflection with that trademark smile that he wore in all situations. The man could be down in the dumps or stark raving mad, but his red hair would always be perfectly parted down the middle and his pale face would beam with everlasting happiness.

A lot of folks found the tailor and his smile to be downright disturbing, but those traits told me something important about the man. He was a reliable master of disguises, and when your continued existence may depend on the quality of your disguise, reliability was key.

He did have a morbid sense of humor, though, which I didn’t much care for.

“Ah yes, the midnight blue tuxedo. One of my favorites,” said the tailor, making some final adjustments. “A perfect choice if one is attending a gala event, a fancy dinner party, the funeral of a friend... or one’s own funeral, for that matter.”

He giggled lightly. I twisted my shoulders to the left and the right, testing my ability to move in a fight. If things got too far out of hand tonight, it sure was comforting to know I would look good in an open casket.

“When sir first informed this humble tailor that he planned to attend a masquerade ball hosted by that most influential lord of evil, I considered telling him to find someone else willing to sign his death warrant,” he said, carefully folding a black garment bag over his thin, spindly hands. “However, one does enjoy a good challenge from time to time. It gives such rich meaning to this short life, wouldn’t you agree?”

He must have seen me throw a dark look his way, as he decided to abandon the topic of my impending doom and waved his hands through the air.

“Ah, but it was such a wondrous challenge, Mr. Masters, one truly befitting a master of illusion such as myself. I cannot thank you enough. One moment, if you please.”

The tailor opened the door and peered outside the dressing room. Apparently satisfied that we were alone, he locked us inside with a small silver key hanging from his violet waistcoat. He quickly approached a tall armoire in the corner, hunching his shoulders and rubbing his hands together with excitement. Pulling open the middle drawer, he gently removed his secret treasure and turned around to reveal a decorative mask.

It was a simple half-mask design, favoring function over form. It appeared to be chiseled from granite, possessing strong, angular surfaces. Rupees encircled the empty eyes, resembling gemstones that were still embedded in dark gray stone. Aside from the monetary value of its rupee decor, the mask was nothing special.

The tailor must have sensed my disappointment. He started wagging a finger at me. “All that glitters, Mr. Masters... True, my creation will not turn heads, but therein lies its secret. As long as you wear the stone mask, those who would do you harm shall never perceive you as a threat. You may take any name, play any role that you desire, and even the man who hates you most in this world would not recognize you. He may even buy your next drink.”

He made a move to place the mask over my face. I must have recoiled slightly, because the tailor chuckled and shook his head. “I assure you, good sir, that my magic is far more subtle than those brutish transformation masks. You shall feel only the slightest shiver of the skin.”

As the stone mask touched my face, I felt a cold shiver move through me like the chill of gin and club soda. My mouth remained exposed beneath the mask, and I noticed that my lips trembled for a spell. I gazed through the eye holes at my reflection, and even the image of myself wearing the mask put me at ease. I felt an overwhelming sense of friendship towards the man in the mirror, and if the past seven years were anything to go by, it had been a while since I felt any sort of kinship towards my own reflection. How did the old saying go? _The worst enemy you can meet will always be yourself._

I handed the tailor a generous bag of rupees. He accepted the money and bowed his head. “It is my deepest pleasure to increase your slim chances of survival, good sir.”

He looked up at me with wide eyes and an even wider grin than usual. For the first time, I agreed that the tailor could be downright disturbing.

* * *

Storm clouds were building over the mansion as my driver pulled into the courtyard circle. I stepped out of the rented limousine in my midnight blue tux, fastening the coat buttons and making sure the mask was secure against my face. A fairy fountain rested at the center of the circular driveway, pulsing with jet streams of colored light, beckoning to guests who would seek better fortunes.

I knew I could use a healthy fortune right about now.

The front lawn was buzzing with activity as mob bosses and socialites walked up the marble staircase that graced the front of the mansion. It was an old but well-preserved mansion, possessing traces of golden age architecture and fine Hylian filigree around the windows. It also had clear signs of Ganon’s residency, such as the towering additions to the upper floors and ancient Gerudo decor. The path to the front door was lit by a dozen flickering torches in cast iron sconces, and I felt the desert heat burning all the way up the stairs. 

A short bokoblin with a gap-toothed grin stood by the entrance, checking invitations as the guests passed through. I showed him the black invitation with golden letters and he nodded with approval.

I stepped inside the mansion and was immediately struck by the dazzling grandeur. A vast ceiling and sparkling white chandeliers soared above the hall. A mural of three goddesses, dressed in green, red, and blue, glared down on the guests as they entered the inner foyer. The goddess Din stood at the center, her fiery red hair burning in all directions. Her hands reached down to the cityscape below her, bestowing her blessing and a golden triangle upon a tall, imposing figure in a dark business suit. The business man held the hands of a Goron construction worker and a Zora scholar, who in turn were holding the hands of countless citizens representing a kaleidoscope of professions, linked in their efforts to revive this great city. They all looked up to the business man, grateful to be in his presence. Good ol’ Ganon. Friend to the people.

I bumped into a short, rotund man in a frog mask, who turned around in a brazen huff but completely changed his tone when he looked me in the face. His complexion turned greener than his mask and he bowed as low as his stubby legs would allow him. His voice was rough and ruined by years of smoking. “My deepest apologies, your lordship. I did not mean to stand in your way.”

It was good to know that the mask was working like a charm. I returned the bow and, since the idea of being anyone’s lordship was too ludicrously tempting to pass up, I told him that the fault must be mine. After all, it was a long and tiresome journey from my duchy in Termina.

“Dear me, a duke of Termina,” croaked the man, running a hand over his sleek comb over. “In that case, allow me to introduce myself. I am Don Gero, esteemed conductor of the city’s finest choirs, and you must join me for a drink in the main hall. Our host has quite the selection of liquors, several of them Terminian, I believe.”

Yes sir, like a charm. 

As I followed Don Gero through the halls, I took note of other highly effective masks that ran the gamut from the sublimely gorgeous to the shockingly grotesque. There were two worlds, one of darkness and one of light. There were sly foxes who flirted with curious socialites, and there were haughty falcons who glared at the foxes with envy. Large goons in pig masks devoured hors d'oeuvre while stunning flappers in fairy masks floated gracefully to one another, sharing the latest gossip. There were hooded assassins with bright eyes, mummies wrapped in linen, and nightmarish masks that would cause anyone to lose sleep. There were also energetic rabbits, smiling jesters, suns and moons that glistened pink as lovers embraced.

Don Gero approached an unusually thin bokoblin waiter and lifted two martini glasses from his serving tray. He handed one of the glasses to me, a bright green liquid swirling at the bottom, and immediately began pointing out the big players in the hall. He told me about Lady Gohma, heiress to the Queenstown lumber fortune, clutching at the arms of every eligible bachelor in the room like a social parasite. I caught an undertone of fear in his voice as he pointed out Madame Kotake and Madame Koume, district judges and mistresses of the death penalty, who were cackling over some horrific joke in a corner of the hall. There was the Iron Knuckle of Bridgetown once again, towering over the other guests in his giant’s mask, and then there was her.

I happened to glance up as we raised our glasses. As we tasted the liquors of far away lands, a woman slowly descended the grand staircase. I slowly lowered my glass in time with her movements as recognition swept over me. My memories traveled downtown, back to the office, as a troublesome dame approached me with the air of royalty.

Zelda Fitzgeralt looked out over the hall, her violet flapper dress glistening in the light of the chandelier as she moved down the stairs in black, T-strap heels. The iridescent sequins and beads of her dress swayed with her hips and graced her plunging neckline, where a golden chain and winged talisman rested flat against her ivory skin. She wore long violet gloves to match her dress and her short blonde hair was partially covered by the blue feathers of her half-mask, but there was no mistaking the identity of the former heiress to this city’s greatest fortune.

I downed the last drop of green liquor in my glass and started looking for any excuse to leave the hall, but that damnable Don Gero cried out with delight upon seeing Zelda and rushed over to her, pulling me along for the ride.

“Miss Fitzgeralt!” he croaked, breathless with excitement as he took one of her gloved hands in his own and kissed it with puffy lips. “I have the most wonderful news. I have just finished composing a lullaby in your honor, which our choir will sing during the annual festival of time. Please tell me you have plans to attend.”

Zelda smiled warmly at Don Gero, leaning down to embrace the small man and speak into his ear. “Wonderful news, my sweet don, but have you forgotten? This is a masquerade, and you are shouting out names as usual.”

Don Gero laughed and waved a stubby hand through the air. “Oh please, as if any soul in this room would not recognize you, a magnificent bird of paradise.”

“You flatter me, don. Very well. If you wish to forgo custom, perhaps you could introduce me to your handsome friend.”

Our eyes met, after all these years. The last time we stood so close, she set me on a course to ruin not only her life and her family’s life, but the lives of a whole mess of people who called this city a prison. I knew the tailor’s magic would continue to work its charm, but in any other situation, it would be hard to mask the dread and disdain I felt while standing in her presence.

Don Gero turned to me. “My apologies, Miss Fitzgeralt. May I introduce Kafei, Duke of Termina.”

Zelda raised one of her eyebrows in interest. “A duke, eh?”

I bowed my head as she reached the final step, approaching me on level ground. I sensed something new about her that I didn’t catch seven years ago. The air of royalty was diminished, perhaps fading with the integrity of her family name, but she had an aura of confidence and dark mystery that was all her own. Her blue eyes gave me the same club soda chill as the mask, as if her personal magic was far more powerful than any tailor could produce.

“I am so pleased you were able to attend, my lord duke. Your country has faced a great deal of hardship in recent years, and I hope you know that many benefactors in this room have pledged money to your cause. They have placed the money in the honorable care of Mr. Ganon, of course, and I am sure he will see it reaches your bankers in due time.”

I expressed my gratitude with a quick word and by kissing her hand, well aware that the stone mask had no way of disguising my voice. I just hoped the former heiress didn’t have a steel trap memory when it came to voices, or I would be taking the shadow ferry to a shallow grave sooner rather than later.

“Oh,” said Zelda, gesturing behind her. “My bodyguard. Impa.”

I hadn’t noticed her before, but there was a dark-skinned woman standing close behind Zelda. Impa lifted her red and white mask to reveal a stern expression. She had a strong build, white hair, and an unnerving glare that said, in no uncertain terms, she would kill you with two fingers if you so much as touched her ward.

A great hush fell over the hall. I noticed the vast majority of guests now gazed upward in silent respect, fixing their eyes on the mahogany wood of an overhanging balustrade. I followed suit and soon laid eyes on the host of this grand soirée.

Ganon stood tall over the balustrade, looking down upon his guests through a terrifying mask. Sharp horns encircled the monstrous disguise, which was painted in blood red shades and the color of dark wine. Yellow eyes with sickly green pupils stared straight ahead, promising to populate your nightmares for evenings to come. Ganon seemed to be fully aware of the mask’s upsetting effect, and he appeared to bask in the aura of intimidation that it offered to him. He placed his hands on the railing, speaking through the mask in booming tones.

“Welcome, my friends. I hope you have found your evening to be filled with delight and amusement. Before we turn our attention to the dance, I would like to make a statement.”

You could feel the weight of that unspoken statement fall on the room. Every guest kept still, afraid to move a muscle in view of the big boss.

“Do you like the mask I have chosen? I thought it would be appropriate for a night of frivolities and dance. After all, I have it on good authority from the metropolitan museum that an ancient tribe used this mask in their hexing rituals. It would seem that Majora here was very fond of mischief.”

The guests started to shuffle uneasily, nodding with approval and showering Ganon with softly spoken praise. But then Ganon’s voice became darker, filled with a deep warning.

“He was also fond of crushing his enemies into dust, just when they felt it was safe to come out and play. One moment, he would be a child, playing his games and frolicking under a quiet moon. The next, he would hurl the moon down on you.”

He slammed a fist down on the banister, causing the wood to splinter. Some of the guests visibly jumped with fright.

“A patch of blood. That would be your final mark on this world, and when it dried and the earth swallowed up your legacy, it would be as if you never existed.”

The big boss strode down the balustrade, still holding his audience captive.

“I would like you to remember Majora tonight, as you enjoy yourselves, as you play by the light of the moon. The faces around you may smile this evening, but tomorrow those faces may turn on you. And if any decide to turn on me, I will reveal to them their final mark on the world.”

The halls were deathly silent. Ganon raised both hands and smiled. “Come. Let us have dancing, for tonight, you are my friends.”

And with that, the weight was lifted and it felt like a celebration again. Big band music kicked into high gear on the far side of the room, and some of the guests migrated over to the dance floor, as if nothing had dampened their parade. They must have had a lot of practice by now, listening to a charismatic guy like Ganon. I glanced over at Zelda, who still stared up at the balustrade with a tight-lipped poker face.

It was probably the best kind of expression to wear when facing the king of evil.

Ganon made his way towards us, each step a resounding thud against the stairwell. Aside from his freakish mask, the big boss was dressed to the nines in a black tuxedo and blood moon cape. He lifted Zelda’s hand and raised his mask just far enough to kiss it.

“My dear Zelda. So good of you to come.”

Zelda shot a look of warning at Impa, who seemed instinctively poised for the kill. She wet her lips and responded calmly to the big boss. “How could I refuse his lordship, especially when so much money depends upon my presence?”

Ganon’s chuckle was deep and rumbling.

“Do not sell yourself cheap, Zelda. Your presence brings us far more than a signed check. Your generosity is legend, and the people remember how much you cared for them. The name of Fitzgeralt still possesses a hint of charity.”

“Among other things, which you so kindly revealed,” she said, her jaw clenched tight.

Fire flashed through the eyes of Majora’s mask, but only for an instant. Ganon lowered Zelda’s hand and spoke gently, almost fatherly. “It is a stain that I was loath to reveal, and I do hope we can lift it when you are offered a new name. Alas, the worthy king I had in mind has come up against some... difficulties. A shame. He was looking forward to your courtship, and often referred to you as the fair maiden he longed to meet.”

Zelda placed her hands around my arm. “Such a shame. I was so looking forward to meeting this king. Perhaps I will settle for a duke, if he will share this dance with me?”

She looked up at me with inquisitive eyes, whereas I felt the cold stare of Ganon chiseling away at the stone mask with dark resolve. I stared back at him, praying for that slim chance of survival that the tailor had promised. Ganon merely grunted as he looked me over, giving no sign that he could see through the magic.

“A duke, eh?” he said, as if he were seriously considering a potential alliance. “We shall see if he is worthy. Enjoy yourselves... for now.”

Zelda guided me to the far side of the hall, placing her arms around me as we prepared to step onto the dance floor. I felt a presence close behind us, but Zelda merely waved her hand and whispered firmly over my shoulder.

“Wait by the car, Impa. I have everything in hand.”

Her bodyguard sighed and lowered her mask, which had a red, diamond-shaped eye painted on the surface. She walked away, leaving me in the hands of this troublesome dame once again.

The hall lights dropped, leaving the guests in shadow until a soft, blue light rippled from the stage. Members of the band stepped back to make way for a large, white clam shell, rising up through the stage floor. 

A muted trumpet and trombone lulled us into a swaying fox trot. As we stepped lightly across the dance floor, I watched the clam shell open, releasing a gentle fog and revealing two stunning Zora women whom I instantly recognized. And damn, the Indigo Sisters sounded even better in person.

_Every kiss, every hug_

_Seems to act just like a drug_

_You're getting to be a habit with me_

I felt Zelda’s body fit closely into mine as we danced, her long legs brushing against me and her hips swaying from side to side. She placed her left arm over my shoulder and held my right hand tight as we glided between the guests. 

She leaned close and whispered softly into my ear. “There’s something I must show you. Can we go upstairs?”

My face burned hot. The sisters guided our steps with their soft and sultry vocals. I was two steps away from a world of trouble, and there was no escaping this dame.

_Let me stay in your arms_

_I'm addicted to your charms_

_You're getting to be a habit with me_

Zelda pressed her face against the side of mine. Her words were quick, focused. She seemed to know her time was limited to the music. “My sweet duke, Ganon is playing you for a chump. He’s been stealing donations from our benefactors for years, stealing money that was meant to aid your people. He will use you, just like he uses me. I’m just a honey pot to him, a symbol of his grand conquest, and he never misses a chance to brag.”

I felt her take the lead, turning me around so I faced the stairs and balustrade.

“I mean to take back what rightfully belongs to Termina, and perhaps a little more. But he keeps it all locked away in his study. We need to get upstairs without raising suspicion. Tell me, how good are your acting skills?”

She lightly kissed my cheek. I knew what she had in mind, but then a recent memory flashed through my mind, a memory of a warm embrace and a goddess with red hair. Malon told me to come back to her... and she told me to find the truth. A private eye needed to play a new role from time to time, and I could put a stop to the show if things got out of hand. Besides, I needed to break into Ganon’s study for my own reasons, and if Zelda was willing to act as my accomplice, why not scratch one another’s back? At least, not literally I hoped.

Another memory lodged itself in my brain, a memory of a case gone wrong. Was it possible to say no to Zelda Fitzgeralt? 

“Just follow my lead,” she whispered, holding my hands tight as she dipped backwards, wearing a false expression of pure delight.

_Oh, I can't break away_

_I must have you everyday_

_As regularly as coffee or tea_

_You've got me in your clutches_

_And I can’t break free_

_You're getting to be a habit with me_

The song broke into a sensuous cacophony of horns and the Indigo Sisters swayed with abandon. The dance floor was bathed in wild light. I watched as the masked faces all around us gave into their wild fever, running their hands over one another and pressing their lips together hungrily.

I saw Ganon speaking with a pair of goons as they left the hall, so I was about to suggest that we get as far away as possible from this hazardous dance floor and make our way upstairs. Before I could get in a single word, though, Zelda grabbed hold of my face and planted a serious honey cooler on me.

She was going for broke now, kissing every exposed part of my face, pressing her body against me as we backed away from the dance floor. A group of gentlemen murmured as they watched us, and the madame justices sneered with disapproval. A Zora waitress passed close by, and Zelda took a martini glass as she leaned against me, running her finger along my neck flirtatiously. She shouted her next line for all to hear. “Come along, my handsome duke! I need to get you upstairs... for reasons.”

She trailed off on that last part, and her tone was beyond suggestive. I caught a glimpse of the waitress staring at us. Her look was somewhere between jealousy and disgust, but Zelda didn’t give anyone else the time of day. She giggled and raised the martini glass, but with a quick sleight of hand that even I nearly missed, she threw her drink into a potted plant and tipped the empty glass to her lips.

Zelda drained her imaginary drink and threw the glass aside, swooning with pleasure as she grabbed hold of my hand. We were running up the stairs now, and when we reached the balustrade, she locked her arms around me and kissed me with renewed fervor.

I was feeling real uncomfortable now and wondered how long we had to keep up this charade, but it didn’t seem like Zelda was going to go easy on me anytime soon. We crashed through a swinging door and made our way into what looked like the servant’s quarters. As we moved against the back tables, she whispered into my ear. 

“Lift me up.”

I placed my hands around her waist and lifted her onto a high table, where she sat under a set of shelves. She wrapped her legs around my chest and ran one hand through my hair, but I noticed that her other hand was patting down a shelf above her head. She stopped and removed a small golden key, which she deftly dropped into the front of her dress just as the door swung open behind us and someone cleared his throat.

We turned around to see a Deku Butler standing in the doorway, arms crossed and eyes squinting with disapproval. Zelda laughed, maybe a little too loud, and leaned in close to me.

“Oh no! I think we’re in the wrong room,” she said as I lifted her down from the table. “Thank goodness this kind gentleman found us before we started doing something naughty...”

She took my hand and led me past the Deku Butler, who was clearly in no mood for breaking up naughty activities between unruly house guests. He watched us from the hallway as we made our way further into the mansion and rounded a corner, making sure that these horny trespassers didn’t find their way back into his domain.

Zelda unlocked a bedroom door and pulled me inside. She held a finger to my lips as we listened to footsteps passing down the hall. As the steps receded into the background, she let go of me and turned on the lights.

We were standing in a luxury suite, gossamer curtains hanging from a four poster bed and exquisite murals flowing across the walls. A large jacuzzi tub rested in the corner, and the moon was shining through high bay windows on the far wall.

Zelda made her way towards a large wardrobe as I wiped off the lipstick from my neck and chin. She reached into the front of her dress and removed the golden key, placing it on a side table. I was about to ask her about the key and her plans for breaking into the study when she moved behind a dressing screen and switched on a small table lamp.

The lamplight poured through the thin screen, outlining Zelda’s thin but shapely figure. She delicately lowered the straps of her dress over her shoulders, pulling the fabric down over her chest and hips. She laid the dress over the top of the screen and raised her leg against a chair, unbuckling her heels and pulling down her sheer stockings. When she moved to unfasten her brassiere, I decided enough was enough and turned away from the dressing screen. 

Just when I thought the coast was clear and we were done fooling around, I found myself trapped in a compromising situation that was becoming all too real. I started rambling on about my pure intentions, assuring Zelda that I never meant for things to go so far, telling her that I thought it was all just a ruse to sneak into Ganon’s study, and gee, I should’ve mentioned it earlier, but I had a nice girl waiting for me back in Termina.

“You can quit stuttering, Mr. Masters. I know what you’re really after.”

When I heard her use my real name, I turned around to find Zelda standing beside the screen, wearing a black turtleneck, utility belt, and dark tights. She had a rope and grappling hook swung over one shoulder, and her blonde hair was tucked away under a black beret.

“Now, were you planning on breaking into Ganon’s study with me, or were you going to write a poem to your lady love while I uncover the truth?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for Original Song and Lyrics: "You’re Getting to Be a Habit with Me" (Harry Warren, Al Dubin, and Peggy Lee, Warner Brothers Records, 1932)


	7. Chapter 7

Zelda opened the bay windows and leaned out into the black night, looking over the mansion walls. I stood in the bedroom holding the stone mask, which was nothing more than a cheap party trick at this point.

“Don’t be too hard on the tailor,” she said. “Impa’s mask is an old family heirloom, and it’s very good at breaking illusions. She once threatened to use it as a lie detector when I broke curfew. Claimed I was sneaking around too much.”

She pulled down on her beret and planted a slippered foot against the window ledge. Her movements were fluid, smooth as the fabric of her black turtleneck shirt. First, she slid the rope from her shoulder and held out the grappling hook. She swung the hook in tight circles, hurling it upward and sideways. It must have caught something, seeing as the rope was now tight in her grip, but you would have never guessed it if you expected to hear metal against stone.

“She was right, of course,” said Zelda, looking over her shoulder at me. “Shall we?”

And with that, she leapt out of the window, lifting her legs and swinging to the side.

I came over to the window and appraised the midnight scene. Aside from a few lanterns on the lower levels and the occasional shaft of moonlight, this side of the mansion was cut in darkness. I looked up and could see the grappling hook glinting off the back of a demonic Vire statue, latched somewhere between the wings and the demon’s snarling, four-eyed face. 

Zelda’s silhouetted figure was standing on a balcony across the way. She pulled up the excess rope and threw the bundle in my direction. I barely managed to grab it out of the air when the first raindrop hit my skin. As if my shared history with this woman wasn’t enough to keep me from swinging, Mother Nature was now giving me plenty of reasons not to take the plunge. 

Then again, I had a scrap of paper and two sides of power that were throwing a long shadow over any excuse I could conjure up. I tucked the stone mask into my breast pocket and wrapped the rope tight around one hand. A few quick breaths later, and I was flying.

As I sailed over the mansion lawn, a deadly fifty feet below, my hand slipped a few inches down the rope. The balcony was still coming up fast. At the last second, I managed to reach out with my other arm, grab hold of the ledge, and hang on tight as my chest collided with the balcony railing.

I tried to shut out the pain as I held onto the railing for dear life, my legs dangling over the lawn. Zelda gripped my tuxedo jacket and pulled me up with surprising ease. As I waited out the rush of adrenaline, she tied the rope to the edge of the balcony and pulled out the golden key. Feeling her way over the window panes, she found a keyhole and slipped the sliver of metal inside, turning it carefully until we heard a soft click.

The windows opened softly onto a pitch black room. A sharp dagger of moonlight ran its way across a red couch and a silver smoking stand. The cigarettes were cold, lifeless stumps at the top of the stand, as good a sign as any that the room had been empty for a while.

Zelda gently lowered herself into the room and reached to the side, switching on a table lamp that rested on a mahogany desk. The lamplight glittered against a glass pyramid resting on top, revealing an ornate study replete with the obligatory shelves of leatherbound volumes and humidors packed with first class cigars. A fancy gramophone player sat under a clock and a bunch of framed photographs were neatly arranged on the walls, showing off Ganon like he was some kind of angel. There was the big boss shaking hands with the mayor, cutting the ribbon to a new hospital, handing over a big check to the orphans. If you had to judge the man based on the photos, he was as clean as the study we were now standing in.

I could see this fabricated reality was starting to get on Zelda’s nerves. She pulled open the desk drawers to find blank pads of stationary. She sifted through the leatherbound books to find drab and ordinary classics. She lifted a couple photos off the wall to find nothing but the wallpaper and solid wood sounds that told us we were getting nowhere fast. Someone was bound to come knocking and get the drop on us, and that would make me two times the fool.

I walked over to the desk, thinking the big boss was bound to have some kind of flask tucked away for trying times, when my eyes rested on the glass pyramid. It was no bigger than a fist or a monkey’s skull, but the lamplight was throwing some odd colors through the prism. I grabbed the pyramid and held it flat in the palm of my hand. 

The brass base was opaque and cold against my skin, but the glass itself was painting the room in wild shades of color. If you looked through one side of the pyramid, there were green markings on the walls that made absolutely no sense. If you looked through another side, the bookshelves were bathed in varying shades of blue. The final side seemed to do nothing at all, until I looked at the clock on the far side of the room.

I walked over to the clock and touched Zelda on the arm. She looked up at me and back at the pyramid with curiosity. I held the glass up to her face so she could look through the prism, and she gasped.

“These are the colors of the goddesses. Blue for Nayru, green for Farore.” She held the pyramid up to the clock, examining the phantom hour and minute hands that glowed crimson through the prism. “And red for Din. The goddess of power. You know, I’d wager anything that her color is the most significant.”

You didn’t need to be a private eye or a thief to figure that out. All anyone had to do was take a look at that wacky painting in the foyer to see that Ganon fancied himself as Din’s chosen one. Still, we were about to see if that obvious wager would pay off. Zelda placed her fingertip against the face of the clock, turning the hour and minute hands to match the crimson lines in the prism.

A dull thump could be heard behind the bookcase. The two central columns of shelves rolled out as if they were coming for us, then pulled apart to reveal a hidden room.

Zelda flashed a smile at me, and I had to admit that I was feeling pretty giddy myself. We took a few cautious steps into the room as electric lamps came to life, probably triggered by the same mechanism as the false bookcase. Another desk, this one fashioned out of brutalist steel, stood at the center of the room, surrounded by filing cabinets, tape reels, blueprints of the city... an archive of atrocities. If only we knew where to begin.

I took one end of the room, opening a few of the cabinets and trying to make sense of a cryptic filing system. I flipped through the folders and let the deep wave of Ganon’s corruption wash over me. Bribes. Contacts. Plots. Every file carried a whiff of his foul deeds, but several documents were redacted and everything was filed so haphazardly that it would take a district court weeks to connect the dots. I opened one folder only to find strange references to a mutation serum, a test subject with the code name MORPHA, and a bunch of chemical formulas that made no sense whatsoever. Yeah, you could catch the rotten smell of dastardly doings, but it would take some doing to figure out where the smell was actually coming from.

“Mr. Masters.” I heard Zelda’s voice from the other side of the room, faint and muffled through the furniture. I tucked the files back into the cabinet for now and walked over, finding her standing beside a shelf of tape reels and records.

She held up a small 45 record and a microfilm reel. Both had the same name written on the label. _Fitzgeralt_.

You could tell by the look on her face that she meant business, and woe to the man who stood in her way. She moved past me and made her way back into the study, lifting the diamond studded needle on the gramophone. I followed, giving her a disapproving look as she laid the record down on the turntable.

“I have to know,” she said, and there was no changing her mind.

The sound crackled and popped. Zelda quickly turned down the volume knob until all we could hear were low voices mumbling to one another. The first voice belonged to a man of some years, his words heavy with stress and authority. There was profound concern in his voice. “So, you understand the severity of this situation?” he asked, pausing for effect. “There are documents... the Zoras could make it public knowledge... both would be ruined.”

I could barely make out the words as the sound fizzled and skipped out of the speakers, but I could tell from her pale complexion that Zelda recognized the first voice.

“Father,” she whispered.

So that was Old Man Fitzgeralt, the city’s disgraced tycoon. I never had a chance to meet the man personally, but the tone of his voice made a world of sense. It was weighed down with impending doom and a coming heart attack.

I tried to focus on the words. Her old man was going on about some financial matters and long standing deals, but when the other guy started speaking, things got really interesting.

“You worry too much, Nohansen. We’ve kept these past... indiscretions under wraps for years. You have my word. It will... a secret between friends.”

There was no mistaking that voice, a voice filled with deep warning. Ganon.

Zelda shot me a look. Her face showed off her surprise and dread. I had no words for her, nothing to soothe her troubles. Nothing I could say would change the fact that her daddy made a deal with the devil.

We could hear Mr. Fitzgeralt sigh like a man resigned. “There is one problem. The public records. If someone searches the archives, the financial records could show... you must put an end to it. This microfilm contains locations of the documents... must be destroyed quietly. We cannot let them know. For goodness sake, Ganon, our families tortured...”

The needle skipped off the record and static filled the air. Zelda made a frantic motion to fix the record, but when she set the needle back in the groove, a different voice chimed in.

“Honestly? Visitors at this hour? Of all the nerve.”

A hologram haze hovered over the gramophone. I reached for the switch to turn the machine off, but Zelda grabbed my hand. “It’s a fairy record, Mr. Masters,” she whispered. “The connection will be secure, and she may let us in on a few details.”

The fairy took shape. She wore a flapper dress the color of lemon chiffon, straps falling from her shoulders as she draped herself over a holographic bed. She held a long stem cigarette holder to her lips and blew light waves of smoke over the record. Her hair was sleek and black, pulled back over her head. Her lashes were dark and foreboding. She tapped her cigarette into a floating ashtray.

“Fat chance of it, darling,” said the fairy. She looked over at me, batting her lashes and licking her lips. “Now, I may have something to say to you, cutie pie.”

Zelda nudged me with her elbow. I groaned. She handed me the microfilm reel, and I held it up for the fairy to see.

“Oh, that old thing. The boss does like keeping his records in order. He even keeps records of the records. It gets so tiresome. I don’t know why he doesn’t just burn that archive to the ground.”

I could tell the fairy was a real tattler. Secure connection, my foot. Zelda eyed the reel with renewed interest.

“She must be referring to the Zora Archives. It’s the largest repository of city documents and public records. I hear it’s a veritable labyrinth inside, but my father always referred to it as the fountain of all wisdom.”

Wisdom. The letters in my uncle’s note flashed through my head, highlighting the W in the middle. Now I was interested.

The fairy scoffed and pointed her cigarette holder at Zelda. “And you, my dear, must be the fountain of all bad manners. I was talking to the stud muffin, so hush.”

Zelda ignored her. “What kind of deal did my father make with Ganon? Who did they torture?”

“Torture?” The fairy spat out the word. Her expression was indignant. “Don’t talk to me about torture, you thieving hussy. If you only knew the kind of torment they put me and my sisters through, all because they want to know how our fountain magic works. I don’t care one lick for my boss, but that doesn’t mean I gotta spill the beans for you.”

Zelda looked like she was about to smash the gramophone player, and I didn’t doubt she could do it. I was worried about the kind of trouble we would face if she started making a ruckus. I put a hand on her shoulder. I could feel her muscles relax as she looked up at me.

“We have to find out what’s on that reel, Silent,” said Zelda, placing her hand over mine, holding the microfilm with me. “Ganon had his hands in this whole affair. He needs to pay.”

Her eyes were wide, pleading with me to take that next step with her. The Zora Archives may be renowned for its wisdom, but it was also in a bad part of town. The South District had been flooded with hate crimes and riots for years. You had to be pretty low on wisdom to step foot in that area, but then again, what part of this investigation smacked of good sense?

I guess I had my answer. You just couldn’t say no to Zelda Fitzgeralt.

“Pssst! Listen, sweetheart.” I turned back to the gramophone. The fairy was sliding to the corner of her bed, waving me over to her. She looked up at me with an apologetic look, flashing those dark eyelashes at me with sensual abandon.

“I’m truly sorry to do this—especially to you, handsome—but he is still my boss.”

The hologram exploded with light. The fairy’s lemon chiffon dress turned sangria red as her head twisted around her neck, once, twice, then over and over again. She made an awful wailing noise that reverberated through the mansion walls.

I grabbed Zelda’s hand as the red light continued to flash like a camera bulb, making it harder and harder to see where we were going. I heard the thunder of footsteps outside, and I could only hope we were heading towards the window.

We stumbled over the window sill and stepped out onto the balcony. After tucking the microfilm reel into my tuxedo jacket, I reached over to untie the rope and stepped onto the railing just as we heard a loud crash inside.

The doors to the study burst open. Moblins with business suits and machine guns rushed in, tearing the room apart with wild bullets. I pulled Zelda up onto the railing and held onto her waist as we leapt from the balcony, narrowly escaping a surefire death.

Our luck was running on empty, as it turns out. The rains had picked up while we were rummaging around the study, and I could feel the rope burn against my skin as we slid down to the lawn. It may have slowed us down enough to the point where we could tumble to the ground without injury, but the same couldn’t be said for my left hand. I knelt on the grass next to Zelda, blowing on the torn skin to ease the burn. Ironically, the rain felt pretty good against the wound.

Zelda grabbed my right hand and pulled me to my feet. “We have to go. Now!”

The gunfire overhead underscored her words. We took off across the lawn, trying to stay out of the light and out of sight. Zelda pulled me along, sprinting alongside the mansion. When I realized we were running toward the front courtyard, I shouted at her and tried pulling her back.

She resisted, jerking me around the corner and diving behind a shrubbery. “Trust me, Mr. Masters! Help is on the way!”

She grabbed a small radio transceiver from her belt and pulled on the antenna. After pressing a small button, a green light started blinking on the transceiver. I looked over the shrub and quickly scanned the empty courtyard.

It wasn’t empty for long. There were sounds of men screaming at one another and a woman shouting in anger. On the far side of the courtyard, we could see Ganon’s henchmen moving away from the mansion as a white-haired killer hunted them down. Impa the bodyguard walked across the driveway, rolling up her white shirt sleeves and tightening the suspenders clipped to her pinstripe trousers. She cracked her knuckles, flexing tight forearm muscles as an open challenge to the henchmen.

One of them rushed the bodyguard. Impa threw him aside, where he landed in a puddle and knocked his head against concrete. She snapped the forearm of another man, hurled one of them into a stone wall, rammed the flat of her palm into a moblin’s face. The moblin staggered back, clutching a bleeding nose, when he should have been avoiding a roundhouse kick to the chest.

The moblin fell flat on the driveway. Impa popped the muscles in her neck and ran over the moblin, making a beeline for a purple Model Z parked near the fountain. The engine roared to life, rumbling with horsepower, and the car took off across the courtyard.

Zelda took off after the car, and I followed close behind. We ran across the lawn, the guns rattling behind us. Impa threw open the passenger door as the car bumped along the uneven ground and the wheels threw up mud. The heiress was a whole lot faster than me, and soon enough, she was able to grab hold of the door and pull herself into the passenger seat.

Impa shouted at her to close the door, but Zelda turned and held her hand out to me. “Come on, Silent! Hurry!”

I sprinted for all I was worth. The front gates were creaking shut as they threatened to trap us inside. I reached for the car door, but then my foot slipped. The world spun around me as I tumbled to the wet ground, covering my head and swearing like a sailor as my burned hand hit the lawn.

As I lay flat on my stomach, I could hear the car race away and Zelda shouting at Impa to turn around. Like hell she would. If that bodyguard was worth her salt, she would keep on driving and slip between the gates, keeping her ward safe from harm.

Survival instincts kicked into gear. I pulled out the stone mask, banking on some illusion magic to give me a fighting chance. Instead, I pulled out two broken halves of the mask, a victim of the night’s daring escapades. There was shouting behind me, and I could hear some kind of creature snarling and barking. It wasn’t a dog. It was something larger, and I wasn’t going to stick around to find out what it could be.

I slipped the broken mask back into my jacket and looked to the side. A grove of trees ran alongside the gate, leading towards a thick forest on the mansion grounds. I pulled myself off the ground and ran for cover, completely unaware that I was running straight into Ganon’s private hunting preserve.

* * *

Leaves rustled over my head, rainwater pouring through the branches as I watched the ground below. I tried to keep my revolver dry as I sat on a high tree limb, watching some deer run by and a couple of bokoblins walk under me. A wolfos howled into the night, and there I was, doing my best not to breathe too loud.

I raised my jacket over my head and opened the revolver, counting six bullets just to make sure. Six bullets between my life and the hunters.

No gambler would bet on those odds.

“There he is!”

I dropped down as gunfire split the tree limbs above me. With two feet on the ground, I raised my revolver and took a shot at the moblin who spotted me. I was using my right hand now and my aim was definitely off, but it was close enough. The moblin groaned, clutching his chest and dropping his gun. Without a moment to lose, I ran over and snatched the gun, which still had five shots.

Eleven bullets. The odds were slightly better.

I made my way deeper into the woods, away from this little shootout that was bound to attract some of the moblin’s buddies. I stopped. There was another one, a short bokoblin moving through the clearing with a rifle under his arm. When he turned around, I realized it was the gap-toothed doorman from the party. I figured that the entire mansion had been emptied out by now, and they were all enjoying a good old fashioned hunt. 

Hiding beside a large oak, I raised my revolver at the bokoblin doorman. The gun went off, echoing through the woods, but the doorman just took off running in the other direction.

I flexed the fingers in my left hand, but the pain was still too severe. I could barely make a fist with the hand, let alone grip a gun and pull the trigger.

Turning away from the tree, I could hear two sounds. First, there was a deep growl that you could feel inside your bones, followed by the deeper boom of iron boots on the rocky soil.

“Looks like we flushed out the rat, boys.”

The words were hard and muffled, forced through a solid gold helmet with few air holes. The Iron Knuckle of Bridgetown stepped out from the trees, his seven foot tall figure dwarfing the two moblins who stood at his side. His chest was covered in kevlar panels and studded with golden chainmail. A utility belt was strapped to his chest, showing off a dozen deadly weapons and even a few black hand grenades. He firmly gripped a silver chain in one gloved hand, a leash which held back a hunched wolfos that slobbered at the prospect of its next meal.

I held up both guns and stood with my back against the tree. The Iron Knuckle chuckled. “Tell us what you took, kid, and maybe we’ll bring you back alive.”

I held my tongue, which flustered one of the moblins. “Speak up when da boss asks you something, you frickin’ thief!”

The boss held a hand against the moblin’s chest. “Now, now, let’s respect his decision. If he won’t tell us, we can always take it off his cold, dead body.”

The wolfos stood on its hind legs, pulling against the chain, and to my dismay, the Iron Knuckle unclipped the leash.

I didn’t have time to think about the pain. I grabbed both guns, clenching my teeth as I forced my left hand to carry the revolver, and then unloaded the moblin’s pistol into the beast with the right. The wolfos howled in pain and collapsed at my feet in a broken heap. When the pistol clicked on empty, I threw it aside and switched the revolver to my good hand, aiming for the Iron Knuckle’s neck. The bullet glanced off his armor and the boss stood his ground.

One of the moblins rushed me and knocked away the revolver. He held me against the tree until I kneed him in the groin, looking up just in time to see the Iron Knuckle pull a pin from a grenade and lob it in our direction.

I pushed the moblin away and ran away from the tree, leaping into the woods as the grenade went off. The base of the tree exploded into a shower of splinters. I looked up to see the other moblin grab his face in pain as the splinters flew into his eyes. The shattered oak groaned above us, cracking and creaking as it fell down towards the Iron Knuckle.

Any hopes I had of ending this skirmish with a chance accident were dashed when the boss caught the tree as it landed on him, holding up the full weight of the oak and digging his iron boots into the ground. The blind moblin fired his gun wildly, bullets ricocheting off his fearless leader’s kevlar armor as the boss struggled to toss the tree away.

This was it. The stakes were high enough, and I decided to roll against the odds. I ran towards the boss and his crony, clobbering the blind moblin with a right hook before he could pull off a lucky shot. The Iron Knuckle threw away the tree, and I jumped onto his back before he could make himself comfortable.

He raged like a bull, flailing from side to side, and I only had a few seconds to act. I held on tight and grabbed one of the grenades from his utility belt, pulled the pin out with my teeth, and stuffed it into his kevlar vest.

The next time that the armored brute thrashed about, I let go and flew across the forest floor. I rolled across the ground and crawled away as fast as I could. The boss must have realized what was inside his suit now. He let out a muffled, bloodcurdling scream.

“AAAAAHHH!”

I felt the force of the explosion lift me into the air. Scraps of body armor and gold rained down, along with other pieces of the late Iron Knuckle of Bridgetown. 

I tried to pull myself up, but the world spun around and my eyesight blurred. I collapsed. The explosion must have rattled my brain something fierce. 

My vision faded in and out. The last thing I remember was being dragged through the forest by the gap-toothed bokoblin, most likely as a trophy to be handed over to Ganon.

I glanced behind us. It looked like we were being followed by a thin bokoblin waiter and a Zora waitress who looked awfully familiar.

The scene finally faded to black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The battle with the Iron Knuckle was partially inspired by the Hinox battle in Shotaro Ishinomori’s A Link to the Past comic, which was serialized in Nintendo Power magazine (June 1992 issue).


	8. Interlude

“Why did you disappear, my love?”

Her voice. It was too good to be true. My head was swimming and I had to wade through a pool of darkness before I could take in the sight of her, but damn, it was worth the effort.

The bed was soft underneath me, and her warm body was so close to mine. Malon was laying on her side, barely covered by a sleek night slip the color of vintage rosé. I looked around and soon realized we were back at the Ranch, upstairs in her bedroom. The morning sun was rising outside the window. She rested her chin on one hand, looking at me with eyes that dared me to come hither.

Her hand moved across my chest and the white sheet that covered me from the waist down. She ran her fingers over my shoulder. “Did they hurt you so bad?” she asked, tracing her fingertips over the bullet scars and a nick of shrapnel that must have come off the grenade.

She drew closer and pursed her lips, blowing across the scars. The cool air sent a shiver through me, the kind you would only feel in the arms of a lover or the presence of a killer.

She pulled back the sheet and slipped underneath, covering us from head to toe in the translucent fabric. Malon was on top of me, her legs against my waist, her body against mine. The sheet rested over her shoulders and curved over our heads as she leaned towards me. My hands touched her legs, gently, and I felt her tremble at the touch.

She lifted the corners of her night slip, revealing her body inch by inch. Sunlight from the bedroom window shimmered through the cloth as it would through a freshwater pool, and when she pulled the rosé slip over her head, red curls trickled down like waves of falling fire.

Her hands drifted down my chest, lower and lower. She raised herself over me and slowly descended. She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply, and when she opened those eyes again, they were filled to the brim with pleasure. She moved against me, swaying her hips as she whispered sweet words to live by.

“You came back to me, Silent. I always knew you would.” Her breathing was faster. She leaned closer and kissed my shoulder, moving her way up the side of my neck. I could feel my mind starting to go blank.

Her lips brushed against the side of my face and she spoke, harshly. An icy wind blew against my ear.

“But you still have a job to do, and life isn’t fair.”

She bit the corner of my ear, hard.

The pain sounded an alarm through my brain. I turned my head sharply and pulled away from her, but when I looked back, she was no longer Malon. A woman with short blonde hair was smiling down at me, her eyes burning with a deadly fire. Zelda Fitzgeralt licked the blood from her lips and lowered her hand over my face.

“Find the killer,” she said, her voice hissing like a snake. “Find the truth.”

She pressed down. I fell back against the pillows and plunged through the bed, my body sinking into a raging sea. Salt water filled my ears and rushed up my nose. Zelda held me under, her nails digging into my skin. Thunder rumbled overhead. I could feel the waves rushing past me, my lungs growing tight, and a mad current pulling me down into the depths. Zelda’s hand slipped away. I swam against the current like a madman.

I broke the surface of the water, gasping on stale air. My hands clutched the edge of broken concrete floor. I pulled myself over the edge and collapsed on the floor. Incandescent bulbs swayed above me, flickering between life and death. And very close by, a pair of shoes scraped against the concrete.

I turned my head and stared down a long hallway. There was a man at the end of the hall, staring back at me. He was an old man with a round gut, but his stance told the world that he could still hold his own in a fight. I couldn’t make out his face, but the sound of his voice told me all I needed to know.

“Follow the leads, Linny. Zelda is your...”

Before he could finish, my uncle turned away, vanishing into darkness. The sound of gunfire split the air. I lunged forward, trying to save him, trying to catch the sentence he never got to finish, but he was already gone. There was nothing at the end of the hall but an empty stairwell.

I could feel ice water pooling around my feet, my ankles, my waist. Water was rushing down the hall and there was no place to go but up. I stumbled all the way up the stairs, all the while listening to the water rise behind me.

There was an echo in the stairwell. Someone was singing. Her voice warbled against the walls and the water like it was making its way through a long tunnel or a bad radio signal.

_Let me sigh, let me cry when I'm blue_

_Let me go away from this lonely town..._

I finally made it to the rooftop, and a hazy white light filled the sky above me. I stumbled out of the stairwell as the water caught up with me, spilling out over the roof. I turned in circles, my feet splashing in the mirror of water that was spreading out in all directions, draining into a wide open sea that reflected the smog-filled sky.

There were several odd leftovers of life floating by. Shreds of clothing and broken newspaper pulp slowly migrated between islands of brick. A skyscraper point rose up through the smog. There was no sign of life in the flooded city, now decaying in a mass watery grave.

But then a harsh wind blew through the smog, revealing another brick island and a woman standing on its shore. The wind flowed through her red hair and thin white dress. She looked across the sea, unaware of anyone watching, and she sang.

_Won’t be long ’til my song here is through,_

_Cause I know I’m on my last go round..._

I called out to her, my lungs busting from the effort. The wind carried away my words, but I could still hear Malon singing. Her voice was as real and alive as anything could be.

_All the love I could steal, beg, or borrow_

_Cannot heal all the pain in my soul_

_What is love but a prelude to sorrow,_

_With a heartbreak ahead for your goal..._

There was a splash of water behind me. A cold wind blew over the sea.

I turned around, finding myself face to face with a shadow. It was shaped like a man, if a man could be made of smoke and stare you down with two red eyes. The shadow man reached into his coat of smoke and drew out a silver dagger.

Before I saw him move an inch, he overtook me, holding the dagger to my throat. The seawater stung my eyes. It had a sharp, antiseptic smell to it, like a high proof alcohol. I forced my eyes to stay open, glaring at the shadow man and grasping the wrist of his attack arm. His red eyes burned in a face that shifted between a half dozen shapes. His jawline expanded and contracted, plump as a well fed man, solid as a jaded beat cop, elegant as a pampered heiress. A white wisp of smog rushed in and covered his face like a scarf.

But the longer he looked down at me and the longer I pushed the dagger away, the shadow face began to look a lot like my own. A smile spread across this dark reflection, so wide that you could see charred teeth and rotting gums beneath the smoke.

Malon sang softly into the wind as the dagger touched my throat.

_Adieu... to you..._

I turned away from this shadow of myself, sweat and seawater dripping down my face. A trickle of water ran into my mouth, briny as vodka. The song crackled in my head as the blade sliced through my skin and the sea turned red.

_Goodbye..._

* * *

Radio static buzzed in my ears, and a violent thought snapped me awake. I lunged forward, snarling like a caged animal with nothing left to lose. I grabbed the wrist that was hovering above my head, and a woman cried out.

Her voice cut through the violence. I stopped lunging ahead and realized I was sitting up in a metal frame bed. I stopped seeing red and a strange room came into focus. It looked like an old war bunker, with all of the minimalist furniture wrapped in a brutalist shell. A small copper desk sat in one corner of the room, and a machine that looked like a cross between a typewriter and a puzzle box was sitting on top. Steel shelves were bolted to the concrete walls, overstocked with ringed binders and yellowed handbooks. A small radio with a wooden finish continued to hum the blues next to the bed, resting on an end table with a water basin nearby. A woman sat on the side of the bed, breathing heavily and holding very still as I gripped her wrist.

She was awfully attractive in a refined way, dressed in a short black skirt and a smart white blouse. Her blouse was unbuttoned twice at the top, with the crisp lapel draped over an elegant necktie. The two ribbons of the navy blue necktie hung loosely over her shoulders and chest, nicely complimenting the woman’s blue skin and the soft flutter of her neck gills.

I met the gaze of the Zora woman, who was watching me through the thin, silver reading glasses that rested gently on her nose. She held a wet cloth in one hand, droplets of cold water trickling down her wrist and the firm grasp of my hand.

“Bad dreams?” she asked.

The only door to the room swung open, hitting the copper desk with a sharp bang. A tall bokoblin faced us, rolling up the sleeves of his white dress shirt, his red tie swinging from side to side as he approached us.

I leapt out of the bed and pushed the Zora woman aside, quickly scanning the room for a makeshift weapon. I grabbed the water basin from the end table, first tossing the water in the bokoblin’s face and then hurling the ceramic at his head. The bokoblin ducked out of the way and the basin shattered against the doorframe.

A sharp pain ran through my shoulders, and my whole body turned to rubber. I was barely able to swing my head to the right, where I caught a glimpse of the Zora woman as she gripped my shoulder nerves between her fingers. “Cool your heels, shamus,” she said in a calm, almost nurturing tone. Her fingers dug deeper into the side of my neck. “You’re in good hands.”

I had some sort of biting remark in mind for the lady, but as the room spun around and my mind drifted back into dreamland, it looked like she was going to have the last word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit for Original Song and Lyrics: "Blue Prelude" (George Hall, Loretta Lee, and Peggy Lee, Hotel Taft Orchestra, 1933)


	9. Chapter 9

When I finally returned to the waking world, I could feel cold metal digging into my skin, the handcuffs tight around my wrists. It didn’t take long to realize I was shackled to the bedframe. Not a good sign, unless you’re into that sort of thing. And buster, that was never my scene.

Speaking of scenes, this one sure had a strange cast of characters hanging about. There was the Zora woman in her white blouse and blue necktie sitting by the wall, reading a book over her wireframe glasses as if we were all relaxing in a parlor. She crossed her blue legs over the chair, her sharp black heels pointed towards the floor and her smart black skirt draped over the top of one knee. A studious academic like herself looked a little out of place in this joint. It was a concrete bunker that looked like it had been lifted straight out of a wartime talkie, but I doubt the soldiers and spies of the great war would have tolerated that gangly bokoblin off in the corner.

The bokoblin sat at a copper desk and tinkered away at his typewriter, pecking away at the keys and twisting the knobs on one side of the machine. Instead of reams of paper shooting out the top, though, this contraption gave off a low humming sound and a series of beeps and whistles as he worked the keys. When the bokoblin turned around, I was able to make out a pair of beige headphones buried in his large, pointed ears.

He took a break from typing, holding one hand against his headphones and picking at his teeth with the other. Rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, he glanced between the typewriter and the Zora woman. When he spoke, his voice was grave and rundown.

“All I’m saying, Miss, is you should have checked with one of us before you filled that basin, even if it was just a cold compress you needed.”

The woman kept her eyes on the book, still scanning and turning the pages with ease as she spoke to the bokoblin. “Add a tablespoon of rosemary leaves and goponga seeds for every gallon. Let the pot reach a boiling point before adding a pinch of salt. Set the pot aside for at least 30 minutes, carefully avoiding contact with other liquids during this interval.”

I couldn’t make out the bokoblin’s face from this angle, but I could hear him grumble a few choice words under his breath, angrily twisting the knobs of his machine.

The Zora woman’s eyes fluttered upward and she glanced over at him, a little smile growing at the corners of her mouth. “Did I miss anything, Bug?”

Bug the bokoblin pulled off the headphones and turned to face her. “Warding spells are no replacement for experience, Miss Ruto, especially when you’re dealing with... with _her_. Every transmission tube, every sink, every sodding bottle needs proper inspection by the proper people. If any secrets reach the fountain waters—”

“It’s not simply a warding spell, Bug. It is a reliable and tested principle of elemental chemistry. Combining rosemary and the goponga plant will produce an inhibitor that blocks any individual who possesses the mutated gene. The chemical pairing would simply deny her the ability to bond with the fairy electrons found in current fountain technology.”

“Alright, then what was the salt for?”

Miss Ruto smiled, a glimmer of mischief in those purple Zora eyes. “Oh, that’s simply tradition. We wouldn’t want the spell to be jinxed, now would we?”

Bug sighed and shook his head. “Just be careful, is all, Miss. We can’t take any chances.”

“I assure you, the water in that basin was completely inert.”

“Yeah, until that bloke got his hands on it and chucked it at my head,” said Bug, turning my way and grimacing. “Speak of the devil, look who’s awake.”

I pulled hard on the cuffs to no avail as the gangly bokoblin made his way over to me. It didn’t look like any help was coming from this Miss Ruto, who sat in her chair and watched with a passing interest.

Bug reached into his pocket. “You gonna play nice, Masters?” he asked.

I didn’t know how this bokoblin knew my name, but if he really knew who he was up against, he wouldn’t take another step in my direction. As he pulled something sharp and metallic from his pocket, I twisted the lower half of my body on the bed and struck his hand with my foot, knocking the piece of metal from his hand. And yeah, I may have called him a damned dirty goblin man while doing it. So sue me.

The metal object clattered across the floor. Bug backed away and sucked the air sharply between his teeth. “Well, that answers that. You wanna deal with this psycho, Miss?”

Bug returned to his machine and Miss Ruto picked up the small ring of silver keys from the floor. She walked over to the bed and bent down, dangling the keys in front of my face and well out of reach. “I believe you owe my friend an apology, Mr. Masters. First of all, the term ‘goblin’ is considered highly derogatory in Oni-Yokai communities, and I’m fairly certain Bug takes his personal hygiene just as seriously as you or I.”

The bokoblin snorted derisively. “Nice assumption, Miss. And I prefer to be called a technoblin, thank you very much.”

Miss Ruto reached for something on the end table. “As hard as it might be for you to accept, shamus, we’re all on the same side. Therefore, I propose a peace offering,” she said, holding up a small object. “You were hoping to gather some information, correct?”

It was the microfilm reel from Ganon’s study. All at once, the memories hit me. I could see that Zelda dame jumping into the moving car, reaching her hand out to me before I hit the ground running. Every bruise and twisted muscle began to smart at the thought of tumbling across the lawn, and then taking another nasty tumble off the late Iron Knuckle of Bridgetown.

As the meaning behind her words slowly dawned on me, I gave Miss Ruto a hard nod, and even though the words stuck a bit in my throat, I threw in a quick apology to the technoblin.

“Much better,” she said, picking through the keys and unlocking the handcuffs. “Now, if you’ll follow me, we’ll make our way to the archives.”

* * *

I stuck close to Miss Ruto as we stepped out of the back room, rolling up the sleeves of my dress shirt and rubbing the tender skin around my wrists. When my fingers flexed without any pain, I took notice of a pale green bandage wrapped around my left hand, tangled fibers rubbing soft against my skin.

Miss Ruto must have noticed me gawking over the bandage. “A simple alginate dressing, coupled with a saline cleanser.”

I gave her a look, and she sighed. “Seaweed, Mr. Masters. Your hand suffered a nasty friction burn a few nights ago, but you should be on the mend.”

A few nights. It certainly felt like the mansion caper was miles away when I was stuck in dreamland, but the lost time weighed heavy on my brain now. Then again, that’s what happens when you get so close to the cracking a case wide open and then someone pushes you down the stairs. You lose time and you lose face.

No, it would be different this time. The microfilm was still in reach. There was still time to solve the case, and I had a job to do.

We made our way down a hall of white brick and sterile light until we reached another door, this one opening up onto a much larger room than the last one. This part of the bunker was wide and deep, filled with brass machines and copper sounds. It was a strange kind of music, like someone was setting out to compose freeform jazz but ended up smashing their instruments against the wall. There was the sharp hiccup of clanging metal, followed by a machine stomach grumbling with liquid coolant. Sharp bangs and loud clicks were followed by a deep and rolling hum, all of which seemed to bubble up from a fountain at the center of the room.

As I followed Miss Ruto down a metal stairwell, moving between the brass machines, I started to pick up on a strange conversation. There were about a dozen distinct voices, all female, whispering over one another. It was hard to make out anything with a lick of sense, but the voice that answered the whispers seemed to follow the conversation just fine.

“Moblin takeover of the Desert Palace Casino underway. Stop. Gossip Stone news empire reports delay in drug lord trial. D.A. Nabooru investigates bribery claims. Stop. Yeah, yeah, that’s old news, sweetheart... Rumors of revolutionaries gathering at former gambling den. Interested parties told to speak to the lady with the dragon pin. Stop. Now that’s interesting...”

Rounding the corner, we found the source of this endless chatter. A squat bokoblin was hunched over a desk, scribbling notes into a spiral ledger as he listened to the whispers. A dozen fairy fountains bubbled all around him, sending the voices up through a mess of twisting cables and brass boxes with speaker cones built inside.

“May we have a moment of your time, Error?” asked Miss Ruto, placing a hand on the squat bokoblin’s shoulder.

Even though he kept scribbling furiously in his ledger, Error the bokoblin squeaked with delight and glanced sideways at Miss Ruto. “You’ll never believe it, boss! We just got word from our man inside the mansion. Turns out Ganon’s furious! He’s having them turn the place upside down. Whatever the Fitzgeralt girl and that flatfoot got their hands on, it’s bigger than we thought. You know, I thought the old owl was off his rocker when he suggested recruiting a barely sober trigger man to do the dirty work. I mean, just look at the dope! You have to wonder—”

Miss Ruto cleared her throat, tilting her head in my direction. Error let up on the chatter and the scribbling as he spun around in his chair. The gap-toothed grin that was plastered all over his face suddenly vanished.

“Oh, he’s awake. How about that?” Error coughed, awkwardly adjusting his blue tie before holding his furry hands up in surrender. “Listen, pal, no offense intended. You know how it is, judging books by their covers and what not.”

Sure thing, pal. I though about reading the title slapped on his goblin hide and calling it even, but I wasn’t looking for a repeat of recent events. I needed things to move forward, and it looked like Miss Ruto was my express ticket to answers.

“Error, we need some white noise while visiting the archives,” said Miss Ruto, holding up the microfilm reel. “Could you run an information loop through the fountains long enough for us to feed the wayfinders? I highly doubt this is a simple grocery list.”

The bokoblin eyed the microfilm and licked his lips. “So that’s the lovely pip everyone’s gabbing on about. Wager there’s some juicy secrets inside.”

The change in Miss Ruto’s expression was subtle, like a gorgeous mermaid flashing a grin full of shark teeth. She wrapped her blue fingers tight around the film reel. “Enough to bleed the big bosses, darling.”

Error let loose a giggling noise that made my hair stand on end. He snuck a hand behind his blue tie and removed a silver key, the gap-toothed grin on his face becoming wider by the second.

Cracking his knuckles and spinning back to the fountains, the squat bokoblin swept aside his ledger before unlocking a drawer above his desk and yanking it open. The drawer contained a mess of wires and several brass-buttoned typewriters, similar to the make and model used by Bug in the back office. The squat bokoblin began hooking up the wires to various panels and the fountains around us lit up one by one. The many voices gasped in shock.

“I can give three hours, maybe four,” said Error as he swept his hands across the keys, typing like a madman. “If the whispers replicate data any longer than that, the other side will start getting suspicious.”

“Aces, darling.” Miss Ruto gave him a quick peck on the cheek, causing Error to turn a bright shade of red. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

The technoblin played on his instruments and the fountains whispered around us. Miss Ruto motioned for me to follow her past the machines. Her black heels clicked against the metal floor as we approached an elevator cage at the end of the walkway. She pulled the brass cage open and we stepped inside. The utility lights in the elevator flickered to life.

The brass cage made a dull clang as she pulled it shut, her hands gliding swiftly to a metal panel filled with glass buttons. Miss Ruto traced her fingers along the panel and pressed a button, which lit up against black lettering. As the elevator shuddered and began lowering us down into her world, Miss Ruto moved in close and wrapped her arm around mine. When I glanced over at her, she was flashing that shark tooth grin my way.

“You’ll want to stay close to my side, Mr. Masters. Zora architecture can be rather... treacherous. We wouldn’t want you losing your way.”

As her chest brushed gently against my arm, I started to wonder if there was more than one way to lose myself in the Zora Archives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bug and Error are based on the infamous programming joke and mistranslation found in the Ruto region of Zelda II: The Adventure of Link (1987)


	10. Chapter 10

“Some people are better at keeping secrets than others, wouldn’t you agree? There are a few among us who can bury a secret under their skull for a lifetime. I suppose you could say that we Zora are experts. We bury our secrets under 200 feet of stone.”

Maybe it was her words that did the trick, but I was starting to feel the weight of that much stone as we rode down the elevator. The walls were starting to close in. The lights above our head had gone as dull as a cigarette stain, and the brass cage disappeared into deep shadow as we headed down into this vault of secrets.

I glanced over at Miss Ruto just to take my mind off being crushed.

She was facing the front of the elevator, the side of her face casting a lovely profile in the amber light. Full lips, green dorsal fins running over her head like feathers, her blue chin curving down into a smooth neckline... if it wasn’t for those pointed teeth, she would have been a real looker in my book.

She was flashing those teeth my way in a self-satisfied smile. “Mm, it seems you’ve got a thing for Zora women,” she said, tightening her grip around my arm. She started to giggle, probably due to the fact that my body was tensing up like a board. “Oh, don’t be so shy. I’ve seen that look on many men who have taken a shine to me. It comes in handy when I want to play them for chumps. My poor technoblins have it the other way round, I’m afraid. They can’t step outside without facing some sort of persecution. Why, poor Error was nearly shot by someone the other night.”

Easy for her to judge. When you’ve handled enough cases with the Blin gangs, it was hard to imagine that any of those goblins could be a real angel under the skin, and I told her as much.

“And why do you think we have so many gang problems in this city? The Oni-Yokai have been pressed under the heel of society for too long. When a mob boss like Ganon started preaching about opportunity for the lower classes, the gangs listened. They helped him rise to power because they wanted a better life for themselves and their families. They sure weren’t getting any hand outs from the other species.

“It took a lot for Bug and Error to break away from that kind of life. They saw through Ganon’s flimflamming, and they weren’t the only ones. Some of the gangs are fighting back against the big bosses, especially now that they’ve realized Ganon was just another master lying about equal rights for all.”

She must have read the skepticism all over my face, because she clearly wasn’t done with her speech. But all the pretty speeches in the world wouldn’t make me start trusting the Blins.

“You might as well start trusting Blins, Mr. Masters, and you can start by putting a little faith in Bug and Error. Without them, we wouldn’t be able to track down your next clue. Zelda understood that very well. That’s why she hired them, after all.”

I shot her a look of disbelief, but she just laughed at me like I was some kind of maroon. “Oh yes. I take it she didn’t let you in on the whole scheme. She’s such a good girl. It was her idea to keep us in position in case things went south at the mansion, which, as it happens, they did.”

Before I could poke any holes in the librarian’s story, the brass cage came to a grinding halt. The lights in the elevator cut out, replaced by a weird glow that rolled over Miss Ruto’s face like pool water. She released my arm and unlocked the elevator cage, stepping out into a marble hall tinted in shades of blue.

“Welcome to my domain. Please watch your step. We’ll be switching between levels... a lot.”

She wasn’t kidding. Things started out simple enough as we made our way through an ornate foyer, decked out in marble tile with the columns to match. The glowing light was coming from the far side of the room, where a massive aquarium took up most of the wall. It was difficult to see how far back the tank went, especially through the tangled seaweed and goponga flowers. As we walked past the aquarium, I thought I caught a glimpse of a creature lurking in the shadows, but it ducked away into the forest of seaweed before I could get a good look at it. I followed Miss Ruto down a granite stairwell, and then things went off the cob in a real hurry.

We barely cleared the granite staircase when Ruto rounded a corner and went up a rickety metal ramp. The ramp dropped us off in a long hallway that curved around the bend, finishing off in another zig-zag set of stairs for us to climb. And just when I got used to the notion of going up, she whistled my way and pointed to a spiral staircase that went down, down, down. It was like walking through a demented funhouse without the fun, and I was about to call the whole affair quits when we finally reached the archives.

The place was long and high, a grand train station without the skylight. And instead of cars racing along the tracks, there were glass tubes filled with rushing water and pulsing lights. Steel filing cabinets were stacked alongside the tubes, and it looked like the tubes were hooked up to some type of factory equipment set up between the cabinets. The tall contraptions were making a rolling, thumping noise, and the longer I stared up at these towers of industry, I began to notice an on-off pattern taking place between the pulsing lights and the thump of the machines.

The librarian left me gawking at the sight, her high heels clicking against the marble floor as she walked over to a series of black tanks along the wall. She crouched down, flipping a light switch and tapping the glass circles on a series of gauges. “Ink levels appear to be stable,” she said. “I knew the Blue Octorok blend would last longer than the old stuff.”

She stood and looked up at the ceiling, watching the pulsing lights with a careful eye. “We should get to work on this microfilm, Mr. Masters. Error can probably keep the whispers busy for a while, but sooner or later they’ll tap back into the archives and feed on new data. You see that?”

Ruto pointed up at the glass tubes running along the ceiling, and I followed the point of her finger to a section of glass that was flashing, the water circling back into the archives. “The drifters are confused. That’s the point where they normally relay their findings to the fairies, but Error has the whole system working in reverse. The fairy whispers are recycling data from the last few hours, which cuts off binary signals from the drifters. A little invisibility while we work.”

I must have been the poster child for confusion. The librarian smirked and beckoned me over to a tower of filing cabinets and a glass tube running from the floor to ceiling. She leaned over to gaze inside the glass tube, and I followed suit. “Look closely, shamus. It’s sometimes hard to make out in the rushing water, and the little fellas are only ten millimeters long. But if you focus real hard, you can sometimes catch a glimpse.”

I stared into sloshing water, but I could only make out dots of light running through the tubes. Then a whole bunch of glowing dots started to group together, blinking like holiday lights and waving their antennae in every direction.

Miss Ruto smiled and cooed gently as she touched the glass with one finger. “There you are, babies. Our drifting messengers. The data plankton move all about the city, receiving signals from our field agents and returning to their home, the Zora Archives. The blinking lights are just their way of talking. They break down information into electric binary signals, so their knowledge can be redirected as ones and zeroes, off and on. When drifters gather together and start carrying a complete message, they return to the archives and transmit their data. Raw data is delivered to the whispers, who can translate the binary signals into a script for Bug and Error. After they drop off their messages, though, the data plankton preserve information with a little help from our printing presses.”

She walked over to one of the machines, and now I could see the rolling bars working their way over an endless stream of paper before cutting it into a growing pile of pages. Ruto lifted a page off the stack and blew on the ink. “And this is where I come in. Even after I sort the paper into our files, though, the drifters keep track of its location in the archives. As a whole, they have such a wonderful memory.”

Ruto laid the paper down before walking down the aisle of cabinets and printers. “But enough about the tech. We have something far more tantalizing to investigate, don’t we?”

I followed hot on her heels, expecting the mad architects of this place to throw us another curveball, but it wasn’t long before we ducked into a small study room. Aside from the typical cabinets and drifter tubes, there was also a row of microfilm readers and a long desk with a mirrored surface. The beige and gray cases lined the back wall, dead and dormant until Ruto reached over and flipped the switch on the first reader. A light bulb burned in the back of the machine, framing the empty screen in a hard tone of gray.

She removed the microfilm from its container, loading the film onto the reels and sliding it under the glass tray. A white background with tiny scratch marks slid onto the screen, and Ruto cranked the knobs of the reader until the white space was filled with numbers and letters. She studied the contents, her eyes fixed on the screen. The bright background and scrolling symbols were casting an eerie reflection on her reading glasses as she scanned the film.

“It’s definitely financial records of some sort. Tax records, or maybe an accounting ledger. Look at that. Mr. Fitzgeralt’s signature. He seems to be signing off on all of these reports, and whoever ran this operation for him was funneling a lot of money to city officials. Hush money, perhaps? Wait, is that...?”

Even in the dim light, you could tell her blue face had turned a sickly gray. It looked like she had just seen a ghost, which wasn’t too far off the mark.

“Jabu?” she said, her fingers touching the lower corner of the screen. When she moved her fingers aside, I saw a circle stamped on the document page, a ring of six petals or fins drawn inside the circle. “This seal... it belonged to Lord Jabu. He was the archivist before me, and my mentor.”

Miss Ruto took in a deep breath. She cranked the film ahead, biting her lower lip as her eyes traced the details. “He was a brilliant Zora, respected by politicians and the elite. They would often call on him for his knowledge, and he would manage all sorts of projects: city planning, economic forecasting, joint meetings with foreign dignitaries. But he disappeared seven years ago. We never knew what happened to him, unless...”

She slowly turned the knob, and the film rolled over large black letters.

“Operation Nocturne,” she said, her voice barely rising above a whisper. Her hands rose over her mouth in shock. “He was part of it. Mr. Fitzgeralt must have hired him to... Oh, sweet Jabu, why?”

A tear slid along the rim of her glasses and rolled down her cheek. If this Lord Jabu was involved in Operation Nocturne, she had every reason to believe the worst. I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach when I heard Old Man Fitzgeralt and Ganon talking on that record back at the mansion, and now the feeling had returned in full force. It was like the past seven years had never happened, because it was all coming back. Bad dealings, bad memories.

It was the secret I had stumbled upon back way back then, when Zelda hired me to clear her family name. Like a damn fool, I followed a bad tip and went rummaging around in the wrong offices. The memories were flashing through my head like tabloid cameras. I could still see myself standing on the courthouse steps, handling the lock picks as I busted into some lawyer’s office. I could see myself digging through the files and coming across strange letters connecting Fitzgeralt to the firm. It was only a piece of their agreement, just a little hush money to make sure the torture operation remained a secret to everyone else, but it was enough.

Seven years ago, I played right into their hands, and they forced enough evidence out of me to drag Fitzgeralt through the dirt. Now we were staring at the annual budget, accounting for every bad luck cent that went into that sad state of affairs.

“It doesn’t mention Ganon at all,” said Miss Ruto, slowly turning the knob on the reader. A good deal of the fire and curiosity in her eyes was gone now. “That’s why he held onto these records. They implicated his enemies and kept him in the clear. Jabu must have known too much. Ganon must have... hold the line.”

Her hand whipped out and grabbed my arm. She pointed to a column of numbers on the screen. She looked plenty excited, though I wasn’t sure what made these figures so special when the ledger was full of them.

“Yes, that’s it!” she cried, leaning closer to the screen. “I know this sequence. Look at the rupees noted in this column. They don’t figure into the totals at all.”

I shrugged my shoulders. Maybe her friend wasn’t the best accountant in the world.

Ruto rolled her eyes. “That’s because they were never meant to be a part of the accounts. Ones and zeroes. It’s binary code, a sequence designed to trigger a stored response from the drifters. He left it behind as insurance in case anything happened to him, in case he needed to pass along his knowledge to me. Oh darling Jabu, you still have something to tell us, don’t you?”

She scanned the numbers once again, whispering ones and zeroes under her breath. I grabbed a scrap of paper and pencil from the next desk over, but Ruto pushed her chair back and blew past me.

“I got it,” she said, taking long strides toward the mirror desk on the other side of the room. Only it wasn’t a mirror at all. With a tap of her finger, she sent ripples through the surface of the desk, which was starting to look more like a tank of water or a religious alter of some kind.

The water’s surface started to glow, and Ruto pulled off her necktie. She unbuttoned her blouse partway, just enough to slip the shirt down over her shoulders. Her blue skin shimmered under the reading room lights, and the white fabric barely covered the curve of her chest.

She glanced over at me and winked, wearing that impish grin with pride. “Now, don’t be getting any funny ideas, Mr. Masters.”

And with that, she gripped the sides of the tank and thrust her head into the water.

As she held her head under the surface, the drifters started to glow in the tubes running along the wall. A weird sound started to echo throughout the room. It was like whale song, broken into highs and lows. I stepped closer to the pool and soon realized that Ruto’s breathing matched the rising and falling notes. She was singing, and the data plankton were listening. The glowing light was starting to hurt my eyes when Miss Ruto emerged, throwing water into the room with the backward motion of her head.

Her neck gills flared open one last time, closing abruptly as she took a deep breath through her mouth. “There. That should trigger their memory,” she said.

Lights darted across the room. The drifters rushed out of the pool and swam through the tubes, shooting across the wall and around the corner. Miss Ruto reached down and pulled off her high heels, flinging them aside as she ran for the door and shouted in my direction.

“No time to lose, shamus! They’re on the move!”

There were a dozen questions rattling around in my head, but I had to ignore them all. It was time to chase down some answers. I took off in a sprint, doing my best to catch up with Ruto as she booked it down the archive halls. The drifters were glowing bright as we followed their trail, but then they took a sharp turn somewhere up ahead.

“This way!” shouted Ruto, her bare feet slapping against the marble tiles as she dove to the right. I grabbed the side of a column as I rounded the corner, nearly losing my footing as my shoes skidded across the floor. I could see the librarian just ahead, running across a black metal bridge and heading towards a spiral staircase.

Stairs. Why did it have to be more stairs? If the drifters had a sense of humor, they were probably laughing at me as they shot down in their glass tube. I barely managed to catch up with Ruto when she hoisted herself onto the railing. As she sat on the railing and slid down the spiral staircase, I caught a glimpse of her blue shoulders rising and falling with laughter.

When I finally reached the bottom and caught up with her, Ruto was reaching into a filing cabinet and sifting through the folders. The drifters were gathering just above her, lighting up the top of the cabinet like a beacon. “B24531. It’s a record of switchboard connections, dated seven years ago… with Lord Jabu’s seal. Alright, lovelies, onto the next one!”

The data plankton pulsed in response and took off down the tubes. I sighed as Miss Ruto chased after them, doing my best to ignore my aching feet as I followed the librarian up two floors of the archives.

And so the pattern repeated itself. The drifters would gather above a stack of cabinets, blinking in binary. Miss Ruto would watch them carefully, then yank open a drawer to pull out yet another folder. All of the levels looked the same, and I was more than ready to swear off staircases for life. The only thing that changed was the contents of each folder: financial records, missing person reports, auction catalogs... I wouldn’t have been surprised if there was an ad for magic beans. Every single one of them had the seal of her mentor, though, and that was good enough for Miss Ruto.

When she slammed the drawer on the last filing cabinet, the data plankton took on a dull color. Their body light faded into the aquarium tubes as they drifted upstairs, but this time, Ruto didn’t give chase. She turned to me with the stack of files under one arm. “Let’s find someplace to spread these out. We probably have an hour of cover left, maybe less.”

We emerged from dark hallways into a grand reading room, flanked on all sides by musty books and ancient artifacts. As Ruto dropped the files onto a long desk and pulled the chain on a green reading lamp, I couldn’t help taking a closer look at a piece of granite sitting on top of a wooden pedestal. There was a wide open eye carved into the stone, which in itself was already shaped like an eyelid. When curiosity got the better of me and I tapped it with my finger, I heard a voice whispering from somewhere deep inside the rock.

“If you’re done playing around, Mr. Masters, I think you’ll want to see this.”

I shook my thoughts clear of the whispering voice and turned back to Ruto, who stood over the covered desk as she buttoned up the top of her shirt.

“It’s all here,” she said, her hands hovering over the fanned out pages as she spoke. “The calls, the reports, the trail of cash... it’s all part of Project Nocturne. Lord Jabu kept a record of every deal, and the he broke them apart into separate files. Look at this. It’s a claim check from the Market Street auction house. Someone was selling artifacts on the black market, but there’s no price listed. Only a set of initials written under the artifact, with instructions to deliver to _G_. And look at this missing person report. A foreign dignitary, with matching initials.”

As the librarian worked her magic, the big picture started to become clear. Goods were being bartered on the black market in exchange for people, people who had powerful connections to foreign governments or business tycoons. These poor saps were turned over to the sick freaks who ran Operation Nocturne, where they were tortured for inside information. Information that could put any man on top of the world if he knew how to use it, and as it turns out, Old Man Fitzgeralt used it very well. And it was all thanks to his right hand man, an underworld agent who was willing to get his hands dirty as he scraped the bottom of the well... Ganon.

“This is proof, all the proof you’ll ever need to put him away. Jabu may have broken up the documents to hide them away, but he has full reports of all the meetings that took place. Every contact shared between Fitzgeralt and Ganon and the torture ring is listed in these files, and if you can get even half of them to testify in exchange for immunity, the courts will lock up the big boss and throw away the key.”

I suddenly realized my hands were pressing down on the documents, as if this precious knowledge needed an extra barrier of protection. I looked over at Ruto, who was smiling with those pointed teeth of hers, and I couldn’t help grinning like a hungry wolf myself.

“As you can see, nothing beats good archival skills and raw water magic. The fairies learned all of their best tricks from the Zora.” She swept her hands over the files and started to gather them together. “We have to get these documents to the chief justice. I’ll have Bug make a call to your friend, the lieutenant. He can bring along the King’s Ledger for extra ammunition, and perhaps he’ll organize a task force to serve as protection until we—”

She froze, lowering the document in her hand as she glanced down at the floor. I followed her line of sight, which is when I noticed the puddle of water moving across the marble tiles and pooling around her feet. But it was moving like no water I had ever seen. It was slow as molasses and slithered over the marble like it had a mind of its own.

Ruto jerked her head up, her eyes looking back at me with horror.

“It’s her. Shamus, run!”

That was all she managed to get out before Miss Ruto was swept off her feet, the molasses water wrapping around her waist like a python and hurling her up into the air. The water tentacle slammed her against the bookcase behind us. The librarian kicked her blue legs against the shelves as she struggled to break free, sending books and folders toppling to the floor.

Working with instinct as my only partner, I drew the revolver from my side holster and pointed it across the reading room. Before I could find anything solid to put a bullet into, I felt the gun fly from my hands as another tentacle whipped out and smacked it away. My eyes tracked the revolver as it scattered across the marble floor, which turns out was a big mistake. I should have been keeping an eye out for the tentacle, which played a little chin music on my jaw and knocked me flat on my back.

I was still seeing stars as I lifted myself off the floor, rubbing my jaw and trying to get a good look at my attacker. It was all a blur for a moment, but I soon came to realize that my eyesight wasn’t the problem. The shape itself was a blurry mass, like a slug or amoeba made up entirely of liquid. There were tentacles waving about the thing, and one of those tentacles had a glowing red orb floating inside it. As it drifted closer to the floor, I noticed a gross eyelid lifting up over the orb. A red eye stared at me from on high. For some reason, the color was a familiar one.

The tentacle holding the eye slithered away, pulling back into the horrible blob on the other side of the room. The blob was becoming less horrible with every passing second, though, shrinking in on itself to form a series of curves and features that were almost human. As the blob reshaped itself, a twisted heap of fabric and black leather emerged from the creature’s center. The clothing wrapped around the curves and the molasses water began to solidify, taking on the color of pale skin and glistening black hair.

A woman took shape in the place of that horrible creature, her black leather duster hanging to the floor. She wore midcalf boots with sharp stiletto heels, matching the intensity of the silver spikes sewn onto the shoulders of her jacket.

At first, she only had eyes for Ruto as she maintained the tentacle form of her left arm, holding the librarian against the stacks. Soon enough, though, she looked my way with a normal eye on one side and that glowing red eye on the other. She raised her eyebrows seductively and licked the water off her crimson lips.

“Perfect,” said the woman, rolling up her black hair with her right hand and sliding a sharp pin into the bun with help from her liquid arm. “We have caught rats in nest.”

Her smile was dangerous and her accent was thick, rolling over the consonants like the molasses liquid of her left arm. She was obviously from Labrynna, but that didn’t begin to explain the type of creature we were dealing with.

Miss Ruto grunted as she struggled against the liquid arm, wrapped tightly around her arms and chest. She stared daggers at the woman. “Morpha. How did you find us?”

“Oh please, darling, I do have my ways. Would you expect any less from master of spies? Ganon wanted that I track down microfilm, and Morpha always gets what Ganon wants.”

The woman’s smile vanished as she turned her head, the low light revealing sharp angles in her face. “Goblins! Enter!” shouted Morpha, her shrill tone demanding obedience.

Several moblins in business suits moved into the room, every one of them packing some kind of heat, but it was the two bokoblins taking the rear that caught our attention. The thin one in his red tie pulled on the collar of his compatriot, a trembling fat bokoblin wheezing through the gap in his teeth.

Miss Ruto gasped. “Bug. Error. Why?”

Error was wringing his furry hands and sweating bullets as he looked up at the librarian. “Please forgive us, boss!” squeaked the technoblin. “We didn’t have any other choice. She—YOW!”

“She’s not our boss anymore, ya mug!” said Bug as he slapped his partner across the face. The tall bokoblin turned to face Ruto, wearing a grim mask of necessity. “She made us an offer we couldn’t refuse, Miss. We’ll be set up for life. That’s all we ever wanted.”

“No, you can’t trust her, Bug. You can’t trust any of—”

The liquid arm tightened around Ruto’s neck, cutting off her words with a gurgling sound. I tried to stand, but one of the moblin goons pressed his boot against my shoulder and aimed his tommy gun at my face. Morpha turned to Bug.

“Go,” she said. “Retrieve documents from table and bring them to me, Goblin.”

Bug followed her orders to the letter, marching to the desk and shuffling the incriminating documents into a neat pile. He walked back to Morpha and handed her the pile, looking up at Ruto as he spoke. “Here you go, boss. And you might as well know that Miss Ruto here is one of the Seven.”

“You bastard!” shouted Ruto, spitting in the direction of Bug.

Morpha grinned, holding the documents tight in her right hand. “Perfect, darling. We will make short work of these rats and their secrets.”

The master of spies squinted her eyes and clenched her teeth. Her right arm transformed into a writhing tentacle of water once again, swallowing up the folders and the papers and all of the damning evidence locked inside. The liquid of her arm swirled at a violent speed, shredding the documents to atoms in Morpha’s grip.

Ruto cried out in dismay and I struggled against the moblin’s boot, reminding myself to keep still when he pressed the cold muzzle of his gun against my forehead.

Morpha lowered her slithering left arm and released Miss Ruto, dropping the librarian onto the marble floor like a stone. Ruto groaned as she lifted herself off the ground, rubbing her shoulder at the point where she had struck the tiles. Morpha turned to her goons.

“You men, take these rats to cold storage. I have such delicious plans for both of them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Join us next time as Silent faces the demented methods of Morpha, Ganon’s master of spies. He's been in tight situations before, but very few individuals survive an interrogation session with this femme fatale. And when Morpha begins to torture his new ally, using a mutation serum that alters the biology of a person in drastic ways, Silent starts to wonder: Has his luck finally run out?


End file.
